


Some Nights It Gets So Bad

by frostedroyaltea



Series: The Ones Who Wander [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Character Death, Crimes & Criminals, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frank Russia, Gen, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Nonbinary Character, Organized Crime, Original Character(s), Post Episode: s01e06 Condemned, Russian Mafia, Short Chapters, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, but the happy ending is in an epilouge, there is some comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 28,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedroyaltea/pseuds/frostedroyaltea
Summary: Fisk escaped. Fisk, escaped. Escaped. The word echos in Vladimir’s mind, and he can’t breathe. His brother’s killer is free while Anatoly is in the dirt.
Relationships: Anatoly Ranskahov & Vladimir Ranskahov, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Vladimir Ranskahov & Original Character(s)
Series: The Ones Who Wander [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876201
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there's a playlist! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Vmr3VKIdfXRZoNrWWxq03?si=3uRtquYBS7G3FTKDGebRVw

Vladimri was standing on the balcony overlooking the warehouse. Sergei came up behind him and joined him at the railing as he was putting his vest on. 

Vladimir looked down and did the final buckle. “Are the men ready?”

“They’re waiting for the call.”

“Make it.”

Vladimir gripped the railing. He would make everything right. For Anatoly.


	2. Chapter 2

None of the men expected anything to go array when one of Gao’s runner's came up to the building. 

“Are we expecting a shipment?”

“No.”

The runner looked up at the balconey then pressed a button.

The building ended up being blown to shit and Sergei and Vladimir staggered out of the building. Sergei was practically carrying Vladimir. Both wheezed over the smoke and fire. “You are hurt.”

“I’ll live,” Vladimir ground out. He wouldn’t die. Not until Anatoly was avenged.

The masked man practically dropped on top of them. Neither Sergei nor Vladimir were in fighting and shape and soon both were laying on the ground, incapacitated, and groaning. 

The masked mudak lifted Vladimir by his collar and struck him with a fist. He was demanding something Vladimir couldn't hear from the ringing in his ears. He groaned weakly and the masked man dropped him and scrambled away. 

Vladimir lifted his head and dropped it. It was only a matter of time before the police were on the scene. Perhaps if the mask hadn’t been there he and Sergei would have been able to escape.

“Sergei,” Vladimir managed to say between the pain.

The man didn’t answer and Vladimir felt himself drifting.

He felt something cold and hard press against his forehead. Vladimir let a quiet breath go. Perhaps he would be dying here after all. And then there was shouting and the sounds of fists on flesh.

There was a gunshot and pain blazed along his side and deep inside his belly. He howled and wished… 

The man was standing above him. Vladimir could barely see him through his squinted eyes.

“How bad are you hurt?” the masked man asked.

“What do you think?” Vladimir grits out and he reaches for a fallen cop’s gun. He’s knocked out when the masked man kicks him in the head and slams a knee into his chest.

He wakes when he’s thrown unceremoniously onto a cold floor. He groans and starts to turn on his back when a voice stops him in his tracks, so to speak. “Don’t move. You’ve been shot.”

“You fucker, why did you-”

“That sounds pretty bad but I don’t speak asshole.”

“I am going to kill you for taking my brother’s head,” Vladimir snarls in English. The man will pay if it’s the last thing Vladimir does.

“You got the wrong guy. I don’t kill people.” The man leans over Vladimir. “Not even scumbags like you who deserve it.”

Vladimir laughs weakly, bitterly, and coughs. “You dropped Semyon off a roof.” Semyon, who died. “Put him in a coma.”

“Yeah. But he was still breathing, wasn’t he?” The masked man is so blaise, shrugging and laughing off what Vladimir says.

Vladimir rears up and says, “Your mask. I found it... and what was left of my brother!”

“I didn’t kill your brother.”

“Lie!” Vladimir screams. Some part of him wonders if the man can hear the grief in his voice, the pain, the anger which coils under his skin like a tightened spring. 

The man takes a step back and says, “You think I’m the one who blew your operation to shit, too? You’re being played… by Fisk.”

“The man you work for,” Vladimir lays his head back down and he closes his eyes.

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but it’s more of Fisk’s games. He’s trying to put you in the ground, I’m not. Choose a side.”

As if Vladimir would side with either of those assholes. Does the man really think he would side with him? “I choose my own,” Vladimir says, voice final.

“Not an option. Fisk made sure of that.”

Vladimir grits his teeth and stares at the man through narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”

“Fisk on trial for everything’s he’s done.”

Vladimir chuckles, full of bitter emotion, then coughs. He can taste blood. He’ll die here if he doesn't get help soon. “Then you’re a fool.”

The man shrugs. “And you’re bleeding out so… Here we are.”

Vladimir closes his eyes. Thinks that maybe it isn’t worth anything to keep fighting. “And if I believe you… and give you what you want to know… what do I get out of it?”

“Payback.”

Payback? Payback!? He wants blood and he’ll have it if he gets his way. “I have counterproposal. Suck my dick.” His eyes close. He can feel his blood, warm and wet, pooling at his side. He’ll die here, and Anatoly will be left alone. 


	3. Chapter 3

Vladimir wakes to a feeling like a hot poker scorching the wound in his side. It burns, he can feel his skin boiling. He screams and a hand covers his mouth. He keeps screaming until his brain blissfully shuts down and the pain dies away.


	4. Chapter 4

Consciousness comes back to him in waves. His side still hurts but it’s tolerable. He opens his eyes and stiffles the pained moan that tries to escape his lips. 

The man is tying someone, a cop, to a supporting pole. The cop is unciouss. Mask puts tape over his mouth and stands. “You have been busy,” Vladimir murmurs and and the masked asshole tenses. 

“The building’s surrounded.Ten officers, four dogs. More coming.”

The man must really be the devil then, if he’s able to tell that from in here.

“How do you know this?”

“Lucky guess,” the man, devil, says, casually. 

He’s lying. Vladimir can tell.

Vladimir watches as the man takes the cops gun. He unloads it, disassembles it, then tosses it to the side like it’s nothing.

Vladimir’s lip curls. “We could have used that.”

“I’m not big on guns.”

He goes to pick up a pipe and Vladimir scoffs. The gun would’ve been better.

“Great. Little stick. Much better.”

He shifts and feels the same burning pain deep inside him. He lets out a groan and puts a hand to his side. “Shitvaluk. What did you do to me?” He groans again when he tries to sit up.

“Road flare. Cauterized the wound.”

“You… burned me?” The man steps closer and Vladimir lurches away. “No!” The man hauls him by his collar and drops him against a pile of crates so that he’s sitting up.

“Bullet’s still inside you. Wouldn’t move around, if I were you.”

Vladimir raises an eyebrow. “You expect me to say thank you?”

The man looks, can he even see out of the mask?, at Vladimir and says, “If I didn’t need you alive, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Vladimir tries to laugh and he only ends up coughing. He can feel dampness rattling in his lungs and blood coats the back of his throat. “So you just stand there and let me die, huh? But you couldn’t kill me yourself. Is that where you draw the line?”

The man crouches in front of Vladimir and he tilts his head. “Tell me what you know about Fisk.”

“You think you’re different? From me? From him?” Vladimir nods to the cop. “You’ll get there. Sooner or later… we all do, men like us.”

“A man like Fisk just took out your entire operation. And he may not own all the cops but he owns enough that you won’t make it into a prison cell.” Vladimir knows this. He doesn't know why the man is telling him this. And if what he’s saying is true Fisk killed his brother. He doesn’t think anything else can surprise him now. “Right now, I’m your only shot at getting out of this building alive.”

Maybe…. Maybe he will tell the man what he needs to know. Anatoly needs to be laid to rest though he probably won’t be getting any… Not with how he died. So violently… suddenly. Vladimir lets out a sigh and nods slightly.

“His lapdog came to us first. He told us his employer had taken note. He complimented... Us on our business. Invited us to be part of something bigger… to expand… if we entered into an agreement.”

“What did Fisk offer?”

“Police looking other way… aid from politicians… and access to Chinese and their heroin.” It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Much like how coming to America had been.

The man leans forward, surprised. “He’s working with the Chinese?” The man sounds so naive, the fool. 

“You really don’t know anything, do you? Just snapping at scraps falling from table.” Vladimir leans his head back and closes his eyes before opening them again slowly. He’ll meet his death here if he doesn't get out quickly.

Mask leans forward again, getting in Vladimir’s space. “I want names. Everything you know about them and how they connect to Fisk.”

“There is only one name that matters,” Vladimir mutters. He will have his way, he will leave, he will escape. He will Live. “The man that can tie it all together.”

“Who?”

“Have you heard of the name… Leslie Shumway?”

Mask shakes his head. “No. He work for Fisk?”

Vladimir chuckles. “American school.” He turns his head and spits the blood out of his mouth. “Almost as bad as Russian.”

“Come on,” Mask urges him.

Vladimir resists grinning. If he suspects… “Leslie Shumway was an accountant… to your...Al Capone.”

“Okay, you know Fisk’s money man is.”

Vladimir turns his head to one side slightly. He can’t be bothered to shake his head, it hurts too much. “Not just Fisk. He handled it… for all of us.”

“Who is he? Where do I find him?

Vladimir lets his eyes closed. The effort to keep them open is getting to be too much. “We were going to rule this city… my brother and I.” He’s hit with a pang of sorrow and he draws in a breath that rattles his ribs and lungs.

“Vladimir! The name!”

Mask is leaning closer. Vladimir can feel the man’s breath ghosting against his cheek.

“His name,” he mumbles, “His name...is… His name is… Pershonow.

Vladimir lunges at the man. He scrambles back and Vladimir picks up one of the planks. He swings forward and it hits the man, knocking him down. “This is not how I die. This is not how it happens!”

Mask gets to his feet and blocks Vladimir’s next hit. The plank breaks and falls to the ground. Mask lunges forward, hauling Vladimir up, and they both stagger forward. The boards beneath their feet break and they fall. The ground rushes up and Vladimir’s breath is knocked out of his body when he lands. His breath rushes away and his eyes close. 


	5. Chapter 5

Vladimir wakes before the man. The man is still for a few seconds longer before he shifts from where he’s laying on the floor. Mask groans and drags himself so he’s on his hands and knees when he wakes. “That wasn’t very smart,” he says.

“But it was fun… watching you bleed.”

The man staggers to his feet and wipes the blood from his mouth. “You think this is a game?” 

“If it was,” Vladimir breathes in and gasps at the pain, “you’d be losing.” He can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He wheezes with his next breath. He can’t see himself getting out of this alive. Not anymore. Vladimir groans and shifts on the rubble. His brother’s name meant ‘warmth’ ‘sun.’ He will see the sun soon, he thinks.


	6. Chapter 6

Vladimir wakes to a pain in his chest and something slamming into him. He coughs. It feels like his lungs, his ribs, are splintering. The weight eases off him and he can breathe again. “What..? What..?”

“You died. I brought you back.” 

Anatoly… He will not be seeing his brother tonight. “You lied, huh? You can not let me die,” Vladimir says. The man is a coward. And he is a man. Vladimir knows that now, after seeing him bleed. Almost die.

“No. Not until you give me what I need on Fisk.”

The next minutes pass in a haze of pain and blurred vision. The man moves around the room, cocking his head. And then he moves to another part of the room and does it again.

“What are you doing?” Vladimir manages to croak out.

“Finding us a way out.”

Strange man, the mask. The only way out for Vladimir is death.

Mask starts clearing rubble away, looking for something. A way out probably. There’s a crackle of static and then a voice coming through the cop’s radio. Vladimir tunes it out until he hears “-the Russian. Is he alive?”

Fisk. Anger curls in Vladimir’s belly and he thirsts for blood. “I’m still here, you fat shit!”

Fisk wants Mask to kill him. Vladimir grabs a piece of splintered wood, broken from their fall. Mask pulls it from his hand and throws it to the side. Vladimir slumps back down and closes his eyes. Fisk keeps talking, his words come in waves, broken and staggering in Vladimir’s ears.

As Mask continues listening and talking he keeps shoving rubble around. Vladimir tries to tune it out to ease the throbbing in his ears.

When he opens them again Mask has uncovered a sort of grate. Vladimir drags himself over a wall and watches as Mask lets out an angry yell and hurls the radio to the ground. It shatters.

The Mask tries and fails to pull the grates cover off. Someone calls him on his phone and he answers. Upstairs Vladimir can hear the cops and their dogs. He looks up and can see the light from their flashlights.

Mask tries the grate again and jolts when Vladimir’s hands join his. “Told you,” Vladimir says, “this is not how I die.”

Vladimir clings to Mask on the way down the ladder. His legs almost gave out on the way down. Once they reach the bottom Vladimir leans against the wall. “Where are we?”

“Access tunnels.”

Mask drags Vladimir along with him. Mask’s hand covers his mouth, stifling Vladimir’s groans. They stop at a door. Mask releases Vladimir and Vladimir rests against a wall. He coughs and can feel blood swell in his throat.

Vladimir can hear nearing footsteps and radios. Mask must hear it too, and something more, because he throws Vladimir to the ground. There are gunshots and then Mask is helping Vladimir sit against the wall. Vladimir grabs one of the weapons and holds it in unsteady hands. He points it towards Mask, thinking. 

“There are five more coming,” Mask says, turning away from where he was trying to wrangle the door open. Vladimir watches him through heavy-lidded eyes. Mask holds his hands out. “All working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We don’t have time for this.” He tries the door again and gives a frustrated groan when it doesn't open.

“I think,” Vladimir says, “I stay.” He spits blood again. 

We can make it,” Mask urges.

Vladimir shakes his head. “Nyet. He controls,” he wheezes and tries to drag air into his lungs, “Police. Judges. Everyone…” He looks up at the Mask. Wills him to understand. “There is only one way to stop him.”

“I’m not a killer.”

“As soon as you put on mask you get into cage with animals. Animals don’t stop fighting. Not until they are dead.” Vladimir stands, using the wall to support his unsteady legs. “What Fisk did to me, he will do to you. To everyone, you care about. Will you feel same way then?” He stares into where the eyes of the mask should be. “Or will you be  _ man enough _ ?”


	7. Chapter 7

Mask doesn’t budge. Vladimir closes his eyes before slowly opening them. “The dermo who controls money is Leland Owlsley. He will give you what you think you want.” Vladimir doubles over in pain and grimaces. “You know that now, don’t you?”

He watches as Mask kicks the lock on the door. It’s rusted and old and falls to the ground with a clang. The exchange one last look before Mask is running through the door.

He’s going to die here. Vladimir knows that now. He starts singing an old lullaby as Fisk’s men near. He manages to hit two before a bullet strikes him. The vest catches some but others hit their marks. 

Vladimir edges on until one hits his knee and he falls. There’s one more. He can hear the footsteps by his head, can feel the cold of a gun muzzle being pressed to his chest.

“Tólja,” he whispers. “I will be by your side soon.”

There’s a sound like an explosion, a burst of warm pain, and everything goes black.


	8. Chapter 8

Vladimir wakes with a start. Pain wracks his body and he wheezes in an attempt to get air in his lungs.

And then, he remembers. The explosion, the masked man trying to save his life. He tried to convince Vladimir to escape with him.

Vladimir was so sure he would die there, bleeding from his wounds. 

Something rustles to his right and he turns his head to look. There’s a person there, gathering something in their hands. 

"You're awake."

Vladimir blinks. Panics and tries to sit up. He falls back when pain lights up inside him. "Where am I?" 

He looks around the room and the person comes up beside him. "Easy," they said. "You were hurt pretty bad." 

"Where. Am. I."

The stranger smiles crookedly. Their hair is blond, short, and hangs in their eyes. 

"Answer me."

"My house." They stretch and yawn. "You've been asleep for a while now. I thought you wouldn't make it at first."

"Why did you save me?" Vladimir mumbles. He had been so sure he'd get to see his brother again. And now? He sighs.

The stranger scoffs. "You think I’d let you bleed out to death there? I know who you are, I saw what happened to those warehouses. But I wasn't going to let you die."

The warehouses. He wonders if any of the men were alive. If they were he hoped they had the brains to leave the city. And, God. Anatoly. 

Vladimir blinks back tears. "I- My brother. I have to-" He tries to sit up only to be pushed back down with a gentle hand.

"I wouldn't recommend moving. You were shot up pretty bad. I can call him, your brother, though, if you want."

Vladimir turns his head away. "He won't answer. He- he's…"

"Sorry," the person says softly. "Is there anyone else?"

"Not in the city. Why did you save me?" 

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I couldn't leave you there. Even with all you've done…" Vladimir looks at them and they shrug. "I don't know. Maybe I was hoping you'd better yourself."

"Better myself," Vladimir slurs. His eyes slide shut. How could he do that when one of the only people he cared for was dead? "I probably won't even be able to bury my brother." 

Rage burns in his chest. Fisk had torn down everything they built like it was nothing. If only- if only Vladimir hadn't chosen pride over peace. Maybe if he thought with his head instead of letting his emotions rule him, like Anatoly had told him to do, time and time again, none of this would have happened.

"We should have gone to Moscow, brother," Vladimir murmurs to himself.

"Pardon?" 

Vladimir doesn’t answer and lets sleep tug him under.


	9. Chapter 9

Over the week Vladimir learns the person's name is Alex and they worked as a doctor overseas before coming home because of an injury.

He had been asleep for almost a week before waking. During that time his brother and his men's bodies had been recovered from the wreckage.

As soon as he heard he called Iosif. "Vladimir?" Iosif was shocked to hear from him. They had spoken briefly after the brothers escaped Utkin but not since then. Before that though, they'd been closer.

"I need a favour. My brother, it's better the police don't know I'm alive if they don't already. But," Vladimir swallows, "come here, please. I don't want them burying him. I'm coming… home. As soon as possible. But- I just can't- I can't leave Tólja here. Not when he wanted to be home."

"I understand," Iosif says, voice gentle. "I'll tell the men's families. They should know."

"Thank you."

Vladimir sat quietly as Alex cleaned his wounds. They didn't talk much, what with Vladimir spending most of his time blissfully asleep and Alex working at a nearby hospital. Vladimir learned though Alex knew some Russian. It was a very… course grasp.

Vladimir didn't know how long it had been but Alex had been getting antsy. Vladimir confronted them and learned the police, likely the ones in Fisk’s pocket, were looking for him and what was left of his men. Vladimir promised Alex he'd be leaving soon. He had to admit he had taking a liking to them and didn't want them hurt.

He left the next week after Alex made him promise to call once he made it to Russia.

It hurt like hell to be moving as much as he did, he probably shouldn't be, but he had to leave. The stitches pulled and tugged and every time they twanged Vladimir was convinced he had torn them. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Iosif was waiting for him once he got off the plane. Iosif waited for Vladimir for the funeral. No matter how much he wanted it, or how much Anatoly would have wanted it, it was unlikely the funeral would be a normal one. Not after what happened. Both knew it was unlikely they'd live to an old age but neither of them would have predicted… that.

Iosif had brought Vladimir to his apartment. Said he'd introduce him to the others soon. Vladimir agreed though he was reluctant to continue with the business.

No one would be able to force him to continue, he knew. Not with his reputation or how much power he had.

Every time he thought about continuing he got a bitter taste in his mouth and he was flooded with memories. Leaving Utkin, accepting Fisk's offer. Arguing with his brother over whether they should or shouldn't accept Fisk’s second offer. Having his brother's headless body brought to him.

He was done. Nothing, no one, would be able to convince him otherwise.

When he told Iosif he was looking to leave it behind him Iosif had squeezed his shoulder and nodded in understanding. Except, he didn't understand. Couldn't. He hadn't lost family to the business. Not yet anyway.

A few people other came to the funeral, people Vladimir had worked with in his past, back when he and Anatoly still had dreams of riches. When they were young and foolish, tempted by the promises of money and power. Oh, how naive they were, thinking everything would come easy after they first joined.

One was Viktor, he was the oldest and had been close to the brothers. There were two others. Nikolai and Alexei. They were young, joined up as kids shortly before Vladimir and Anatoly had left Moscow to follow through with a job. A job that landed them in Utkin. He never expected to see either of them again. They thought the same, he was sure.

The rest of the men were unfamiliar to him. After a few days, he took up a spot besides Iosif and Viktor. Three people in power was dangerous, it often led to backstabbing and fights that would tear groups apart.

Iosif and Viktor were close though, close like Anatoly and Vladimir had been. The two trusted each other and had been friends for years. That trust had gotten Anatoly killed though, so Vladimir didn't know where their leadership would end up. Vladimir didn't make many decisions anyway, he stayed in the background, offering advice when it was asked.

One night, about a week later, Vladimir had stopped keeping track of time so he didn't really know, he heard people talking. Their voices filtered in through the hall, the door to his room must have been open.

"He keeps sleeping," one mumbled, sounding annoyed. "Lounging in bed while we do all the work."

"Mind your tongue," another snapped. "Did you hear what happened?"

Another voice joined in the argument. "That's exactly why we shouldn't trust him. If he led them to that then what should we expect to happen to us?"

"What did I just say?" The second one snapped. "He and Anatoly worked together. And after Anatoly died… Vladimir almost died that night. He's still recovering."

The words grew muted, further away. No matter how much it hurt to admit it but the two were right. It wasn't the first time someone had thought Anatoly had to keep him in check.

Vladimir let out a pained whine as he shifted to his side. It'd been almost a month since that night and the wounds bothered him like they were still fresh.

He drifted into an uneasy sleep, waking when Iosif entered the room. "You need to eat," Iosif had said, and set a tray down on the bedside table. He put down a water glass next. "And drink."

"I'm not hungry."

"You say that every time. I don't care. Sit up and eat."

Vladimir gives him a stink eye. "It hurts."

Iosif sighs and helps him sit up. "You need to eat Volodya."

"Don't call me that," Vladimir snaps.

Iosif takes a step back. "Sorry. Eat. I'll be back later."

Vladimir takes the plate and stares at the food on it. He wasn't hungry. He didn't think he'd ever be again. Still, he ate what he could.

Iosif came back, late in the night, smelling of gunpowder and cigar smoke. Vladimir watched him through half-closed eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Iosif asks.

"Like shit."

Iosif sighs. "I've got to go. I'm meeting with some people. Stay here."

"Where am going to go?" Vladimir asks, voice bitter. "I can hardly walk." His head lolles and he looks out the window.

"I'll be back soon."

"You'd better."


	10. Chapter 10

The next several days passed by in a blur of pain and sleep. 

Eventually, Iosif got fed up and dragged him out of bed, down to the cemetery. "Talk to him," Iosif says once they reach Anatoly's grave. It was by their parents. Anatoly's didn't have their last name on his, they had made a lot of enemies in their work and didn’t want anyone to damage it. But anyone could put two and two together. "It'll help."

Iosif leaves him there claiming there were things he needed to buy. Vladimir sits in front of the headstone and traces the engraved letters with his fingers. 

Nothing really stood out about it. There was no mention of what happened in his life, or what he did. 

Vladimirs fingers trail down to Anatoly's birth date, to his death. He would have been thirty-eight. He should've lived longer. 

Vladimir clenches his hand into a fist. "I'm sorry Tólja. You should have been able to see the city, at least for a last time." Vladimir sighs. "I should have listened to you." 

He sat in silence until the sun started to dip lower. He stood, intending on leaving Iosif at wherever store he was at. Someone who had been walking up gasped and took a step closer. "Ranskahov?" 

Vladimir stuck a hand in his pocket fully intending on using the knife he had on him. The man stumbled back and held his hands out. "Wait!" He yanked his shirt collar done, revealing a star tattoo.

Vladimir withdrew the hand. "I don't know you."

The man stepped closer. "I'm Fyodor. I heard what happened. Everyone thinks you died."

"Do you know who survived?"

"Mikhail, Dmitry, and Aslan. Those are the ones I know of. You have any plans yet?"

"No. I'm just-" Vladimir cuts himself off with a shake of his head. "I've got to go," he says curtly before brushing past Fyodor and leaving.

He finds Iosif at a bar. Vladimir sits down next to him. 

"Well?" Iosif says after the silence had stretched on enough that it was becoming uncomfortable.

"Nothing. Saw someone there. Didn't exactly help." Vladimir blinks. His whole body throbs and he just wants to sleep.

"You feeling alright?"

"No." 

He can feel Iosif's eyes on him, studying him. "Let's get back," Iosif says. "You don't look good."

"Thanks for that," Vladimir says dryly.

"You know what I meant."

Vladimir had sagged against Iosif outside the bar. Iosif caught his waist and Vladimir recoiled, sucking in a breath at the pain.

He couldn't remember how he and Iosif got back to the safehouse. The many bullet wounds had turned infected. Alex would be pissed, but well, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. 

"What were you thinking?" Iosif said. "Dumbass."

"It was your idea," Vladimir snaps. He looks away to stare out the window. The stars were hidden behind the clouds and city lights. His shirt had been stripped off and Iosif sucked in a breath. There were red streaks leading away from the wounds. 

"I'm calling someone," Iosif says, leaving no room for argument. Or so his tone said.

Vladimir didn't have it in him to argue anyway. Not when he was shaking and feeling heat and ice pulse under his skin. "You do that," he says and lays down on the bed, trying to breathe through the pain.

He wakes up when someone stuck a needle in his hand. Iosif had shoved him back onto the mattress when he lashed out. "You're fine," Iosif said. "This is Faustia." 

Faustia finishes hanging the IV and nods at Vladimir. "This is just saline," she says. "The wounds are infected. If they aren't dealt with they could become septic." Faustia digs through her bag and pulls out a small case looking like the kit that carried the epinephrine. 

Vladimir looks away as Faustia injects the medicine. Apparently, two more were needed. Faustia explained one was a sedative, Vladimir knew that though with the way his eyes grew heavier after it, one for tetanus, one an antibiotic.

By the time she leaves Vladimir's eyes are dropping closed and Iosif is explaining what happened to the others.

When Iosif gets back to the room Vladimir is asleep. 


	11. Chapter 11

Vladimir wakes with a start and with his brother's face fading from his mind. He can’t remember the dream but it leaves him feeling… off. He finds he is forgetting his brother's voice, his face. The thought, realizing it, makes his throat tighten. He lets out a strangle sounding sob, alerting Iosif that he’s awake.

"You alright?" He asks and Vladimir looks away, squeezing his eyes shut.

"How could I be? I feel like I'm forgetting him."

"Try to sleep more," Iosif says.

"Sure it's not a problem?" Vladimir asks, suddenly remembering the conversation he had overheard.

Iosif frowns. "You heard them?"

Vladimirs lip curl into a sneer. "No shit."

"I'll talk to them," Iosif says as he walked to the door. "Vladimir? You need to look after yourself. Follow the orders of whoever found you, fixed you. I already know you didn't do those stitches. Your handiwork is not that good."

"Fine. Whatever you say." 

The door closes and Vladimir finds himself unable to hold back the tears any longer.

He leaves early the next morning. Mist hangs in the air and frosts his breath. The cemetery is empty. Vladimir drops the flowers he had brought with him on the two graves. One for his parents. And one… for his brother.

“Hi Toly,” he says. “You were right. About… everything really. I… don’t know what I’m going to do now. I should have gone with you. I’m sorry, brother.” 

Vladimir leaves then, going to a store to buy vodka. With the bottle in hand, he returns to his brother’s grave. He wordlessly unscrews the cap, lifts the bottle to the headstone, and drinks. “For you,” he tells the air and drinks again. He crouches down and pours a bit on the ground covering Anatoly. He sets a palm there and sighs. 

Iosif finds him there later, sitting against the headstone, listening to the sounds of the city. “I thought you’d be here,” Iosif tells him.

“And here I am,” Vladimir muses. The bottle sits empty beside him. He grabs it and stands. “Where are we going?” he asks, since it’s unlikely the man came out of the goodness of his heart.

“There’s a meeting. You need to be there.”

“Very well,” Vladimir says and he moves forward on unsteady feet. 

He throws the bottle out once they reach the building. It’s a dull grey and stained by the smoke of a long-dead fire. 

Vladimir recognizes some of the people there. There’s Viktor, Iosif sits by him. The only two whose name’s he knows are Boris and Akim. There are two other people. They look similar. Both have dark hair and eyes. They have the same angular jawline. Vladimir figures they are brothers.

As soon as Vladimir sits Boris inclines his head at him. The man is old and his hair is greying. “Welcome back Vladimir. I heard what happened. You have my condolences.”

Vladimir acknowledges Boris with a nod though he doesn’t speak. To Iosif, he mutters, “What exactly is this about?”

Iosif hushes him and tells him to wait. Vladimir sits back in the chair, frowning, not feeling unlike a small child who was just scolded.

He tunes out most of the conversation, the still healing wounds are bothering him again, until someone says his name.

“Vladimir,” Akim says, “This is Daniil Belevich and Fionn Gallagher. They’re cousins.”

Vladimir looks at Fionn. “That is not a Russian name.”

“My father is Irish,” Fionn says. His accent is foreign, he had likely grown up speaking English, or perhaps Irish, along with Russian. 

“And your mother?” Vladimir asks.

“Our mothers are sisters,” Daniil says. 

“They want advice,” Akim says. “They’re looking to move the business to other places as you and your brother did.”

The two are close, Vladimir can tell, with how they lean towards each other, even now. It would kill one to lose the other.

“You want my honest advice?” Vladimir asks, ignoring the warning Iosif mutters into his ear. “Don’t do it. My brother died. And I- I don’t know how to continue. So don’t.”

Daniil narrows his eyes. “We have come too far to stop now. It would be for nothing.” He lifts his chin and stares into Vladimir’s eyes. “We came for advice. You would do well to share it.”

Vladimir raises an eyebrow and though his shoulders hunch Daniil doesn’t back down. “Very well,” Vladimir says. “Use your head. Lead with your mind, not emotions. Talk to each other, if you do not agree take time to think over the decision then come back together. Act together and not rashly.” Vladimir sighs. “And even if it makes you feel lesser do not let your ego or pride keep you from choosing the wiser decision.”

Fionn tilts his head. “That’s what happened to you.”

Vladimir nods. “I hope neither of you will have to suffer as Anatoly and I have.”

Both Fionn and Daniil nod. They’re young for the position they hold. Probably climbed the ranks quickly, following through with their orders, not thinking of the consequences or the damage they’ve caused as they did.

Like Vladimir and Anatoly did.

The thought weighs him down as he and Iosif leave and return to the apartment. Vladimir calls Alex once he’s alone after remembering the promise to call them. He says he’s doing fine. He wonders if Alex can hear the lie in his voice. Alex reminds him to care for his wounds and to focus on recuperating. 

That night Vladimir cleans the wounds. He scrubs too hard at one and the wound splits open. His cursing brings Iosif into the room who promptly drags him off into the room he’d been staying in.

Iosif probs the wound and Vladimir flinches away. “This will have to be restitched,” Iosif says. “Be more careful next time.” Iosif looks him over, fingers tracing carefully over the still-healing wounds. “How the hell did you survive this?”

“I don’t know.” Vladimir knows he should be dead. Some would say Alex is a miracle worker but it sure doesn’t feel like it to him.

Vladimir downs one of the pain killers the doctor, Faustia, left and watches as Iosif stitches his side.

He’s forced to stay bedridden by Iosif over the course of the next week. He spends most of his time asleep, waking from nightmares and letting tears fall slowly from his face when he remembers Anatoly will not be returning from the grave.    
  


Vladimir sometimes wonders if Anatoly feels restless, trapped. With how he died Vladimir knows Anatoly probably is. Vladimir tries to sleep then but can’t. The others are loud, the walls muffle their words so Vladimir can’t tell the tone or what they’re saying. It’s suffocating him.

Eventually, the week ends and Vladimir leaves to visit his family. He brings flowers again and drops them into a vase someone left there. Probably an old friend. Vladimir doesn’t know who. He twirls the now dead flower that was in the vase between two fingers. The thorns prick his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Hi Toly,” he says in a quiet voice. He casts a look at his parent’s graves. He knows they were disappointed him and Anatoly in life, in death too, probably. “Sorry,” he says to them.

He sits in front of the headstones. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to think. Anger rears up in him there, clawing at his rib cage, howling to be let out. It rears its ugly head and Vladimir’s eyes narrow. Fisk did this to him. Fisk will pay. Except, he’s in jail in New York and Vladimir is all the way in Russia.

Vladimir knows Fisk will not be there forever. Not with half of New York’s government on his payroll. 

Vladimir wanders the streets until the sun is sinking low into the horizon. He sees no one he recognized, no one he wants to speak to. Iosif tries to talk to him that night but he just turns his head away until Ioisf leaves him alone.

Pain wracks his body that night and heat swells in the wounds. He downs some of the medicine Faustia left and hopes it’s enough to keep infection at bay. Somewhere, deep in his mind, knows he should have listened better, should be more responsible. 

He wakes to tears blurring his vision and his entire body throbbing with fire. He can’t remember Anatoly’s voice. The realization strikes him and sends the tears flowing down his voice. Someone comes into the room, tries to tell him something. Vladimir keeps his face turned away and yells for them to leave. No one tries to talk to him again that day. 

  
Days bleed into weeks until it’s a new season, summer. The air warms and the ground thaws. Vladimir can walk now, without feeling the stitches pull with his every movement. 

He goes to see Anatoly. He’d been coming less in past weeks. He’d been spending most of his time with Alexei and Nikolai, teaching them. He knows Viktor is trying to rope him back into their work. Iosif had long since given up, quickly learning it put Vladimir in a foul mood. 

“Hey, Tólja. I know it’s been a while.” He sits down in front of Anatoly’s grave and crosses his legs. “Alexei and Nikolai have been getting into trouble. It’s kept us busy. Sorry I haven’t been by. I hope you’ve managed to find peace by now. If you haven’t-” Vladimir shrugs. “I know Fisk will escape eventually. When he does I don’t know what I’ll do.” Anatoly stays silent. Like always. 

Vladimir sniffs and wipes a stray tear away. “I miss you. Sometimes I remember your voice, in the morning, but it always slips away.” His throat is burning now and he tries to swallow the lump away. “Wherever you are I hope you’re well.”

Vladimir phones ring. It’s Nikolai. He looks back at the headstone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.” 

He answers the call as he’s leaving the cemetery. “We may need help,” Nikolai says and then Vladimir hears a gunshot. 

He curses and takes off at a run. “Where are you?!” 

Blood slicks the streets when he gets there. Nikolai stands over Alexei who’s collapsed on the ground, whimpering, and holding his leg. There’s a man on the other side of the street, bleeding from his chest and head. Vladimir curses again. 

He hauls Alexei to his feet and picks him up when he falls to the ground after taking a single step. “This way,” he barks at Nikolai and leads the way to an old safe house he and Anatoly used years ago. 

He kicks the door open easily; the lock was old and rusted. Dust hangs in the air and coats the curtains and furniture. It probably hadn’t been used since he resided there. 

Vladimir sets Alexei on the bed. He finds old sweatpants in the drawers and throws them at Alexei. “Put those on.” To Nikolai, he says, “Help him.”

He scrounges through the rooms, there’s two of them, until he finds the first aid kit. He heads back into the bedroom and shoves Nikolai to the side. He pushes the pant leg up. There’s no exit wound. “We can either go to a hospital,” Vladimir tells Alexei, “or this can be fixed here.”

“Won’t we get in trouble?”

“There will be questions. Whether or not you will be in trouble depends on exactly what you were doing.”

Alexei’s eyes dart around and he licks his lips. “Just do it here.”

“Very well,” Vladimir says.    
  
He leaves the bedroom and digs through the cupboards until he finds an old bottle of vodka he remembers leaving there. 

Once back in the bedroom Vladimir dumps it over Alexei’s leg, ignoring how he howls in pain. No one lives close enough to hear so that won’t be a problem at least. 

Vladimir opens the first aid kit and finds most of the medicine to be expired. “Nikolai, he’ll need pain killers. Something to stop infection as well. Go buy it then get back here.”

Nikolai bites his lip and nods jerkily. Vladimir wonders again how old the two are and how much they’ve done in their careers as criminals. Not much, he supposes. They look barely old enough to have graduated.

Vladimir hands the bottle to Alexei. “Drink. You’ll need it.” Alexei downs it as Vladimir prods his leg, looking for the bullet. “You sure you don’t want to go to an actual doctor?”

“I’m sure,” Alexei says, voice small.

Vladimir presses a wad of gauze on the wound. “Hold this.” Alexei’s hand replaces Vladimir’s and he digs through the box. There isn’t much there. He had gotten it for minor injuries, not major surgeries. 

Vladimir takes the gauze from Alexei and looks for the bullet again. Tweezers aren’t the best for what he needs but Alexei had insisted. “This is going to hurt,” he warns and Alexei quickly blocks the tweezers with his hands.

“Wait! Can you count? Please?” Blood’s seeping down his leg again. It’ll need stitches and soon.

“Fine,” Vladimir says and Alexei practically sags with relief. He moves his hands away and Vladimir starts to count. “On three. Ready?” On one he gets the tweezers around the bullet. Alexei yelps in pain and spats out a curse.    
  
He swears the entire time Vladimir digs out the bullet. Once it’s removed Vladimir clamps a hand to Alexei’s leg and digs through the first aid kit for more gauze. Alexei’s shaking under his hand, and whimpering. Vladimir finds more gauze and presses it to Alexei’s leg.

“You did fine,” Vladimir tells him.

Alexei gives him a stink eye. “You fucker, you said on three!” Then his eyes widen and he’s stammering out an apology. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“You’re fine,” Vladimir says. “Hold this, I need to wash my hands.”

Nikolai comes in as Vladimir is drying his hands. “I got the medicine,” he says and he holds up the bag.

“Good.”   
  
They go back to the bedroom. Vladimir takes the bag from Nikolai and pulls the pill bottles out. He reads their labels and hands one bottle to Alexei. “Take one.”   
  


“But-”

“Take one. If you don’t want to you can go to a hospital and explain to them exactly what you were doing.”

“Fine.” Alexei swallows one and hands the bottle back.    
  
“Nikolai, talk to him.” Vladimir digs a needle and string from the box and threads the needle. Alexei’s eyes widen when he sees and he flinches away when Vladimir brings the needle to his leg. 

“Easy,” Vladimir says. He sterilizes the needle then wipes down Alexei’s leg. 

Alexei’s passed out by the time Vladimir’s finished stitching his leg. He goes to wash his hands and tells Nikolai to do the same. He packs away the first aid kit and stows it under the bed. The bloodied gauze gets thrown away and Nikolai finishes off the rest of the vodka.

“Call Viktor,” Vladimir tells Nikolai once the room’s clean. He does and Vladimir can hear yelling from the other end of the phone. 

Viktor comes by to pick them up. Alexei stays asleep in the backseat. Nikolai, in the front passenger seat, ended up being scolded for the entire ride back.

Vladimir watches the sky outside the car window, remembering. The first time he had been left to patch someone up it had been Anatoly. He had been unconscious at the time and Vladimir felt so lost without his instructions. Vladimir’s stitches had been crude and Anatoly was left with a scar. Anatoly didn’t care but Vladimir felt bad about it years after it happened.

Vladimir goes back to his family’s graves the next day. It was closer to noon, he had slept longer that day after nightmares plagued his dreams. He never remembered what they were about but they always left him feeling lost and disconnected from the world.

“Hey, Tólja. Had to do an impromptu surgery yesterday. Remember when I had to stitch up your shoulder? It left that ugly ass scar.” Vladimir smiles sadly. “They’re so young. Nikolai and Alexei. They remind me of us. Back when we first started up.” Vladimir’s chest heaves as he sighs. “They’re going to get themselves killed if they don’t stop.” 

He reaches out and traces his brother’s name on the cold stone. “I miss you,” he says softly. “It still doesn’t feel real. Sometimes I still expect to see you in the mornings, just in the other room.” His phone rings and he frowns and stands. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says. 

Vladimir leaves with a bitter feeling rising in his chest. The call is not a good one. It is a call to action.

He meets Viktor, Iosif, and the two cousins; Daniil, and Fionn. Fionn’s lip is split and Daniil’s knuckles are scabbed over. They’ve been getting into fights then. Vladimir silently accepts the gun Viktor hands him and feels a cold weight settle in his chest. Viktor and Iosif are tense. Vladimir’s sure there will be death tonight.

They’re scoping out a building. Boris and Akim are inside. Viktor is waiting for their signal, once he has it he’ll be directing the others on what to do. Vladimir is stuck with Daniil and Fionn. They whisper together in Irish until Vladimir barks at them to be quiet. He rests the gun against his hip. A light flashes and he moves forwards, gesturing for Fionn and Daniil to the same. Their footsteps are loud and echo in the air. 

It’s clear to Vladimir Boris is trying to ease him back into the business. Vladimir is left outside, guarding. He can’t tell what’s going on inside but he can hear shouting and thuds. There’s a crack of a gunshot and Vladimir’s vision goes black. 

Someone’s shaking his arm, saying his name, and Vladimir panics. Pain lights up along his scar and he stumbles back. Fionn and Daniil are in the background, almost frothing at the mouth like wild, chained, dogs. Iosif is by him and loops an arm through his. 

The smell of gunpowder clings to Vladimir as they leave and make the trek back to the apartment. Daniil and Fionn leave with Akim while Viktor does damage control. Vladimir still doesn’t know what happened.

Boris leads Iosif and Vladimir into an empty room. He’s angry, Vladimir can read it in his tense shoulders and thinned mouth. “What happened back there?” Boris asks, barely managing to keep the fury out of his voice.

“The gunshot-”

“What gunshot? There was  _ no  _ gunshot Vladimir.” 

“How was I supposed to know?” Vladimir spits. “I said I was  _ done _ . This shit got Anatoly  _ killed  _ and it is  _ my  _ fault. I can’t do anything about it!” 

“Fine,” Boris says. “But you know the rules, if we call you  _ come _ .”

“I know Boris,” Vladimir snarls. “I understand that  _ very clearly _ .”

Boris leaves then and Iosif soon follows. Vladimir waits until it’s quiet before going to his temporary room. He regrets it now, all those past years. That night he wonders if he’d still be regretting it if he had Anatoly by his side. Probably not. But then again, he’ll never know.


	12. Chapter 12

The next week the world is thrown into turmoil. Two twins with a vendetta against Stark side with one of his pet projects, Ultron. They almost level Sokovia in their battle to stop each other. 

Viktor, Iosif, and their people stay off the streets then, and for the following weeks. Everything is tense and throws Vladimir's world off centre. 

He leaves one night and goes back to Anatoly. He sits there quietly, leaning against his brother’s headstone, until the sun is gone and the moon has long since risen. He goes to his old apartment, desperate for rest. The first aid kit is still shoved under the bed and the vodka bottle still sits on the table. He throws the bottle away and leaves the first aid kit where it is. He’ll never know when he’ll need it.

He strips the bed of its cover, it never got cleaned after Vladimir stitched Alexei’s leg, and lays down. Sleep doesn’t come easy and when it does the sky is turning purple and grey with the rising sun.

Alexei and Nikolai show up the next day, bringing with them alcohol and food. They dump it on the table and barge into the room. Vladimir sits up and the blanket he found in the closest pools around his waist. 

“What?” he asks them. 

They’re both staring at his chest. He had taken his shirt off, it was rubbing the newly healed scars wrong. 

“How are you alive?” Alexei asks. He has an arm slung around Nikolai’s shoulders and Nikolai is supporting him by the waist.

“Why are you walking? Someone found me. A doctor.”

“You should be dead,” Nikolai says bluntly and Vladimir snorts.

“Thanks. I know. I do not think the person was… quite human.”

“A spirit then?” Alexei asks, excitement edging into his voice. “An angle?”

A corner of Vladimir’s lip turns up and he shakes his head. “No. Not quite. A mutant, I think Sometimes their arm got shaky. They also told me they worked overseas until they were injured.”

“It could be a cover,” Nikolai muses and Vladimir wonders how much of their childhoods the two lost to being criminals. 

“Oh! We brought food,” Alexei says and he limps into the kitchen. Nikolai follows after him quickly.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Vladimir says before promptly passing out again.

He jerks awake an hour later, blinking dazedly, convinced he heard his brother in the other room. “Toly?” He blinks again and looks around the room. Anatoly, is gone. The realization slams Vladimir and he slumps back down on the bed and flops onto his back. His swipes angrily at his eyes before letting his arm lay across his forehead.

Alexei and Nikolai are talking in the living room. Vladimir sighs and puts his shirt back on before going in there. Nikolai and Alexei are drinking and playing some game with cards. Vladimir sits in the other chair at the table and runs a hand through his hair.

“Are either of you old enough to drink?” Vladimir asks.

“Yeah.”

“Yes”

“Hmm.” Vladimir grabs the bottle and drinks from it before setting it back on the table.

“You alright?” Nikolai asks.

Vladimir shrugs. “What do you two plan on doing exactly?”

They blink and look at each other. Nikolai shrugs and Alexei says, “It’s a job. Isn’t it?” He’s nervous about something. Vladimir can’t tell what.

Vladimir runs a finger over the wood of the table, idly tracing nothing. “How do you two know each other?”

“We’re friends,” Nikolai says and there’s something in his voice that suggests they are something more but Vladimir doesn’t comment on it.

He steals the bottle away again and drinks deeper. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Nikolai asks.

“In Utkin, there was a man. Alexei. That was his name. Was. There was Oleg. Anatoly almost died there.” Vladimir swallows and looks down. Softly, he adds, “I was so scared I would lose him there. He was sick and so sure he wouldn’t make it. I had almost lost my brother then.” 

He looks up and both Nikolai and Alexei are looking at him, game forgotten. “Do not let that happen to you,” Vladimir tells them. He looks down again. “Eight. Eight years,” he said softly. “Anatoly was alive  _ eight years  _ after we escaped that hellhole. It should have been longer.” He draws in a shuddering breath and repeats in a quiet voice, “It should have been longer.”

Vladimir grabs the bottle again, drinks, and sets it back on the table. He lets out a shuddering breath as tears threaten to fall. “I’m going to-“ he can’t continue through the lump in his throat and he points at the door.

Once he’s halfway there Nikolai stands. “Wait.” He walks over to Vladimir and hugs him. Vladimir flinches before hugging back.

“Don’t make the same mistakes I did,” he says hoarsely. He looks over Nikolai’s shoulder and meets Alexei’s eyes. “You two keep each other safe.”

The day passes through a haze of alcohol and he finds himself kneeling in front of Anatoly’s grave, clutching a half-empty bottle of vodka. “I can’t let them go through what we did Tólja. I can’t.” He sits and brushes a few leaves off the pedestal his headstone sits on. The summer is turning to autumn, soon the leaves will turn their colour and the air will frost over.

“I just- I don’t know how I’m supposed to stop them. Hell, if someone tried to lecture me like that when I was that age I’d tell them to fuck off.”

He pours some of the vodka onto the ground. He wonders if Anatoly can taste it. Wherever he is. “For you brother,” he mumbles. “I will right this, somehow, for both our souls.” 

He sets the rest of the bottle in front of the headstone. “I’ll keep them safe.” He pats the ground in front of him and stands. “I’ll bring flowers tomorrow Tólja.”

Vladimir cast a look at his parents when he walks past their graves. He never knows what to say to them.


	13. Chapter 13

It started out as a rumour. Vladimir had been keeping track of the news in hell’s Kitchen. First, it was the Dogs of Hell. And then other people were being targeted. The cartel, other crime syndicates Vladimir and Anatoly manages tp squash down with Fisk’s help. The masked man must’ve been having a field day with it all. Vladimir wasn’t surprised. After everything that went down someone was bound to take over eventually. 

A few weeks later, though, the Yakuza and Chinese started coming out of the shadows. Vladimir was shot with nerves and kept to the apartment. Nikolai and Alexei had been coming over more. It would have been endearing had they not been nagging Vladimir about his health. 

They came over one night after a job. It was their first one after Alexei had been injured. Vladimir watched the two, they were jumpy, nervous. Tense. 

“Kolya.” Nikolai jumped and looked over at Vladimir. He was on the couch and the other two were playing a card game at the table. “What’s with you two?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was it the job?”

Nikolai shakes his head and glances away. “No.”

Vladimir sits up. “What is it then?”

“It’s nothing,” Alexei says as he put one of his cards on the table.

“Really.” They both nod and he looks off to the side. “If you’re sure…” They don’t say anything like he hoped they would. He doesn’t care too much. He’ll figure out what’s got them so jumpy soon enough. 

Vladimir finds out what had them so nervous the next night. They’re at his apartment again, watching some movie on a laptop they brought with them. He's in the bedroom, had been looking at old records. He stares at the computer screen and his jaw tightens, shoulders tense. 

Fisk escaped. Fisk, escaped. Escaped. The word echos in Vladimir’s mind, and he can’t breathe. His brother’s killer is free while Anatoly is in the dirt.

He stands and slams the laptop’s lid closed. Venom swells up in his chest, burning hot and bright. He can feel it in his throat, in his mind, in his chest where it resides, scorching. 

He leaves the apartment, eyes blazing and fists trembling. How dare they keep this from him. Did they really think he wouldn’t find out?

Vladimir reaches the safehouse and knocks, the sound ringing out. No one comes and he thuds his fist on the door. It swings open, almost catching him in the face. It’s Fionn, looking at him boredly and disdainfully. 

“Where’s Viktor? Iosif? Where are they!?”

Daniil is quick to come to the door. “It’s just us tonight Vladimir,” he says and jerks his head, gesturing for Vladimir to follow.

Vladimir follows him inside and into the kitchen. “Where are they?”

Daniil lights a cigarette and breathes the smoke out. “On a job.” he quirks an eyebrow. “Where have  _ you  _ been?”

“Busy,” Vladimir says tersely. “When will they be back?”

The cousins exchange a look. “Soon enough,” Fionn says and he sits in the chair opposite of Vladimir’s. “I take it you aren’t here looking for conversation.”

“You would be right.”   
  
“What is this about?” Daniil asks.

Vladimir casts him a look out of the corner of his eye. “That is none of your concern.” 

“On the contrary,” Daniil says slowly, “it is. Why are you here Vladimir?”

“Business.”

“Cut the shit Vladimir,” Daniil says. He stubs the cigarette out on the table and the smoke fizzles away. “You said you were done.”   
  
“I did.” Vladimir stands and shoves the chair back under the table. “I know the way out. Tell Viktor and Iosif I’ll be expecting a call.”

He leaves then and feels their eyes on his back until he shuts the door behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

Vladimir makes the trek to the cemetery, flowers in hand. He sets the bundle between his brother’s and his parents graves and sits down in front of Anatoly's with a sigh. “Fisk escaped,” he says, heart heavy. The venom is still there, poisoning him. He can taste blood, smell it in the air. He wants Fisk’s death but he’s not sure if he’ll have it. “I don’t know what to do.” He sits there for a while before figuring he may as well return to the apartment.

Nikolai and Alexei are still there when he gets back. They stand when he opens the door and closes it behind him. His movements are slow, weary. He can feel his past, and what he might do in the future, weighing on his soul.

“Did you think,” Vladimir says slowly, “I wouldn’t find out?”

“No,” Nikolai says.

“Sorry,” Alexei says. “They told us not to tell you. What are you going to do?” 

Vladimir shakes his head. “I don’t know Lyosha.” He sits, falling back against the couch and  feels the air whoosh out of him . He frowns and his eyes narrow. “Fisk will pay,” he growls.

Alexei casts a nervous look at him. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going back. Soon.” Vladimir clenches his hands and looks down. He can almost see the red staining them, dripping through his fingers. 

A weight settles on the couch beside him and a head rests on his shoulder. “You’ll be okay?” Alexei asks.

Vladimir doesn’t know how to answer. He looks at Nikolai who's putting the cards away. “I don’t know. Eventually.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Vladimir jerks awake the next morning when his phone vibrates. He shoves Alexei off him and moves from the couch to the bedroom. “Yes?”

“Fionn said you wanted to talk.”

“I do. Where can we meet?”

“Now?”

Vladimir grits his teeth. “Yes now. When else? Where are we meeting?”

There’s a pause from the other end before Viktor answers, “The old meeting place.”

Both Viktor and Iosif are there when Vladimir arrives. Fionn and Daniil were nowhere within sight but Vladimir knows they could not be far behind. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Viktor asks.

“You’re trying to keep me out of the loop,” Vladimir says and he lilts his chin accusingly. “Why?”

“To keep you safe. We knew you’d want to go after him.”

“Keep. Me. Safe. Is that really it? Or do you want me docile? In the dark? Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Of course not Volodya,” Iosif says.

“Do not call me that,” Vladimir snaps.

Viktor takes a step closer, holds out a hand. “What’s wrong Vladimir? We used to be close.”

Vladimir closes his eyes, shakes his head, and steps away. “Close. That’s what you call working together, training me. Anatoly.” He doesn’t try to hide the tear that falls. “Anatoly is dead now.” Vladimir opens his eyes and glares at them. “And there is nothing that can bring him back! Do you think I wanted this!?!”

“Vladimir,” Iosif says, voice measured and cool, “think about what you’re saying.”

“Fisk dies by my hand,” Vladimir snarls. “Don’t try to stop me.” 

He leaves then and he can see two shadowed figures on the rooftops, watching.


	16. Chapter 16

Alexei and Nikolai are both awake when he gets back. It’s early; the sun has just risen. The two watch as he packs clothes in a bag. He isn’t talking much, he doesn't plan on staying long.

“You going back to New York?” Nikolai asks.

“Yes.” Vladimir sets the bag by the door and sits on the couch. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” He looks at them. “You two take care of each other. Don’t do anything stupid. Got it? You’d better both be here when I get back.” 

“We will be,” Alexei says, promises.

Vladimir casts a look at the two of them. “Stay out of trouble. Daniil and Fionn… try to stay away from them. Boris too. Especially him.”

“Who’s Boris?” 

“He’s high up. Controls a lot here.” Vladimir sighs and feels something heavy settle in him. 

Nikolai sits, by him, in the middle of the couch and Alexei sits on Nikolai’s other side. Nikolai wordlessly pulled the laptop over from the edge of the coffee table and pulled up a movie downloaded on it. Vladimir shifts to get more comfortable. He supposes he can spare a few hours.

Alexei curls into Nikolai’s side into the middle of the movie. At one point Vladimir had got up to turn the lights off and the light from the screen casts a glow on all of them. Vladimir looked at them. Oh how they reminded him of him and Anatoly.  _ How do I protect them Tólja?  _ Anatoly didn’t answer and uneasy steadily grew in the pit of Vladimir’s stomach. He’d find a way. He had to. 

Vladimir wakes early the next morning. It’s still dark outside. Nikolai and Alexei are still asleep on the couch, practically laying on top of each other. He leaves his bag by the door, he’ll be back later. To retrieve it, and say goodbye.

He goes back to the cemetery. The air has a chill to it that will keep until the afternoon. New York will be hot. 

“Hey, Tólja.” Vladimir sits in front of his brother’s grave. He didn’t bring anything this time. There are a few flowers in the vase the stranger left. Three pink carnations. There’s a single dark red rose sitting in front of the grave.

Vladimir doesn't know who left them, if they were the same people. He looks at his parents grave. He’ll buy flowers when he gets back. “I’m going back to New York,” he says, and sighs. “I… don’t know what I’ll do when I get there.” He looks at his hands. They’re full of blood. Innocent blood, shed without purpose. Fisk though… there’s no innocent blood in him. 

“I don’t know what you want. What you want for me, what you want me to do. I don’t know what you’d do for me.” He laughs weakly and wipes at a stray tear. “I know our parents wouldn’t agree. Would want me to save myself.” His parents always were more religious than he and Anatoly had been. “I don’t know if I can be saved,” Vladimir whispers. “I miss you, brother. Your voice, just… You.” He closes his eyes. “I should be the one under there. I know you’d tell me that that’s ridiculous, that it was going to happen eventually. It’s just,” his voice shakes and he swallows, “It’s all my fault. Tólja… I don’t know what to do.”   
  


Vladimir twists strands of grass between his fingers. “I don’t know what I’ll find in New York.” He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head. “God I miss you. If I could just hear your voice  _ one more time _ . If I could see you… I’d...” He tries to hold back a sob. It comes out chokes, strangled, and the dam breaks when he can’t hold it back anymore.

He sits there, hunched, hugging his knees to his chest, until the tears dry. 

Vladimir stands and lets out a shaky breath. “I’ll see you soon, Tólja, if I live or-” He cuts himself off and presses his lips together. Tólja would urge him to live, no matter what’d it take. He rests a hand on the headstone; it’s cold, it always is. 

When he gets back to the apartment Alexei and Nikolai are awake and sitting at the table looking over papers. They both look up when he closes the door behind him. 

“I’ve got to go,” he tells them. He grabs his bag, hefting it over his shoulder as the two come up. Both want a proper goodbye, they say. 

He manages to get on the plane without any trouble. The security stared him down up until he was seated but no one said anything. By tomorrow he’d be in New York; the place where all his and Anatoly’s dreams went to burn in hell.


	17. Chapter 17

The plane lands and Vladimir jerks awake with a start. His side is burning and he unconsciously puts a hand to where the mask had burned him. 

Outside Vladimir flags down a taxi. He did see one marked ‘Veles.’ He avoided the eyes of the driver. He didn’t know if the new owners were friend or foe and he didn’t want to find out the hard way.

Thirty minutes he was in Hell’s Kitchen. It was almost the same time he had left Russia. Vladimir moved on quickly. There was a safe house nearby. It was seldom used and more than undesirable but it’d make do for the time being. It was the only one that only he and Tólja they knew about. 

The building was old and the air smelled of rot. It’d probably be torn down in coming years. Vladimir ran his fingers over the key, it was still damp from the wet dirt, and brushed the crumbling soil from it. It was hotter than usual and he quickly shedded his jacket. 

He went into the room he used as his own and hung the jacket in the closet.  Clothes still hang there. Two shirts and a pair of pants. He had forgotten about them. 

Vladimir wanders the place. He knows there are weapons, guns, somewhere. The cupboards and fridge are empty. So are the drawers. 

The wood furniture is covered in dust. The dust hangs in the air and drifts down in spirals. He’ll need to clean the place if he’s going to stay there. Under one of the floorboards, he finds the cash they stashed there when they first bought the place. 

Vladimir eventually toes open the door to Anatoly’s old room. Feelings rise up in his chest and he chokes back a sob. He doesn’t go in and shuts the door. 

He buys food first. He has one of the guns tucked in his waistband. He can feel it pressed against the array of scars and it makes him shiver. Someone walking down the street does a double-take when they pass each other. But the man couldn’t have seen Vladimir, the man was using a cane. 

No matter if the man saw him or not Vladimir hurries faster. He knows Alex’s a mutant, he would not be surprised if the man was some kind as well. Nothing of the supernatural could surprise him now.

Vladimir puts the food away when he returns to the apartment. He keeps the gun out and returns the money to the rest of the stash.

He serpents the next hours with a bottle of vodka he bought. The pain throbbing along the scars keeps an edge to his mind; he tries to drown it out with the alcohol. 

When the sun dips lower and the moon climbs the sky Vladimir makes his way back to Anatoly’s bedroom, edging in through the doorway. The curtains are open and stir with the AC. Vladimir closes the door behind him and steps all the way into the room.

He feels like an intruder, standing there, where his brother lived, breathed. The feeling is foreign, strange, and Vladimir does not wish to feel it any longer.

He goes to the closet and opens it. Anatoly had left less of his clothes there. There’s just one jacket. Vladimir reaches out and jerks his hand back before reaching out again. His fingers brush it and he pulls it off his hanger.

Vladimir brushes the dust from it. Anatoly hadn’t worn it often, he said it was too bulky. Vladimir runs his fingers over it. He pulls it on. It still smells like Anatoly; like the vodka, cigars, and cologne he wore. Tears prick in Vladimir’s eyes. He still has this, this small piece of his brother. 

He sleeps uneasily that night, waking when there’s a clattering outside and someone running down the fire-escape. He yanks open the curtain. Daredevil, as he’s called now, is making his way on to a rooftop a few building over. Devil turns his head then shakes it, dismissing something. 

Vladimir shuts the curtain and deigns to not go outside at night for the next few days. Revenge can wait.


	18. Chapter 18

Vladimir supposes he should have stayed in Russia when he goes out to find Fisk. He did have Piotr trailing him but that ended in him dying. Vladimir can’t find Fisk himself either. He can’t find the lapdog either. Nor Leland, Gao, Nobu; everyone is sticking to the shadows after the lone vigilante started hunting them, killing them.

Vladimir knows the only thing that’s keeping The Punisher from hunting him is his presumed death. 

The thing that first alerts Vladimir to him is the crunching of gravel and a ringing of metal on metal. Red flashes in his vision and Vladimir spins in a slow circle. “D’yavol,” he growls. “Show yourself.”

The man throws something, a baton, and it narrowly misses Vladimir’s head. He draws his gun out and immediately Daredevil is on him, grabbing his hand and twisting it. 

“Drop the gun,” Devil says lowly, this voice he uses sounds like he’s gargling rocks, “Or I’ll break your hand.” 

It doesn't take much to make Vladimir believe him. He saw what he did to Sergei. He drops the gun and Daredevil kicks it away. It hits the brick wall with a clatter.

The devil forces him against a building then and presses an arm to his throat. The man does not kill though, so Vladimir isn’t worried. Annoyed though, yes. The sooner Vladimir deals with Fisk the sooner he returns to Russia. To… home. The masked man had gotten himself a new outfit. Red horns and helmet. Gloves, some type of baton. Armoured chest plates. It came from Melvin Potter, Vladimir was sure.

“You died,” Daredevil says and his tone is full of disbelief and amazement.

“Clearly I didn’t. Let me go.”

“No. What were you doing?”

“None of your business,” Vladimir sneers and the man presses his arm onto Vladimir’s windpipe. Vladimir crans his head and draws in a breath. “Let me go.”

“I can’t do that. How did you survive?” Daredevil puts one hand on Vladimir’s chest, over his heart. “It is you,” he says to himself.

“I do not know how I am alive now. Someone saved me. A doctor.”

The man moves his arm from Vladimir’s windpipe to across his collar bone. Vladimir shifts against the bricks.

“What were you doing?” Daredevil asks again.

“Not telling.” 

“Fine.” The man throws a punch and strikes Vladimir, making his ears ring and blood fly from his face. Vladimir rights himself and throws a punch of his own. 

Daredevil dodges it easily. He pins Vladimir to the wall again and hits him again, once more, and Vladimir goes down. 

As his consciousness is ebbing away Daredevil leans above him. "Stay out of Hell's Kitchen," he hisses and he leaves just as Vladimirs eyes are closing.

The sounds of nearing sirens pulls him awake. He stands unsteadily and leans against the brick building. Perhaps returning was a mistake.

He blinks and someone's in front of him. The new person is saying something about lawyers and keeping quiet. 

Vladimir doesn't say anything as he's being handcuffed and being put in the backseat of the car.

He opens his eyes and they're in front of the station. The man’s name tag reads "Brett."

Vaguely Vladimir wonders if this is the same station where Piotr met his end. Brett tugs him inside and Vladimir ends up handcuffed to a table with Brett sitting on the other side.

"Vladimir Ranskahov," he says. "You lived."

Vladimir doesn't say anything. 

"Everyone here thinks you're dead. A man came a while back. Identified Anatoly and some of the men. Said his name's Joseph."

Vladimir blinks and realizes Brett must be talking about Iosif. "I do not know a Joseph," he says. He knew they were the same person though, but Brett didn't need to know that.

"What are you doing back here?" Brett asks. 

"I want lawyer." 

Brett leans back and considers what he said. "Alright. I'll call them in the morning. No one will come at this hour."

Vladimir is led to a holding cell. Brett leaves and Vladimir is left alone. He ignores the bed, he's not surprised this place has one, and sits in the far corner, watching the halls warily. 

He doesn't sleep much that night and wakes when someone is unlocking the cell door. He's handcuffed, again, and led back into the room. 

A few minutes later he can hear the lawyers outside the door. "You did say you wanted interesting, Nelson," Brett says.

"Who is it?" 

The door opens and Brett walks in. Two people in suits follow closely behind. The one in front, the other is holding his elbow and a cane, has a shocked look on his face and his jaw drops. 

"Who is it Foggy?" The blind one asks. His hair's brown and his glasses are a strange red colour. Vladimir supposes there must be something ironic about them. 

Foggy, he's blond and has yet to close his mouth, blinks rapidly. "Vladimir Ranskahov. Where did you find him, Brett?"

"Vladimir Ranskahov? I thought he died."

"Clearly I am not dead," Vladimir growls and he jerks his handcuffed hand. He frowns at it. 

"Daredevil called him in," Brett says. Vladimir doesn't miss the look Foggy gives the blind man. 

Brett leaves and shuts the door behind him. The two lawyers sit where Brett did the night before.

"I'm Foggy Nelson," Blondie says.

"Matt Murdock. We're from Nelson and Murdock." There’s something familiar about that man’s voice. It nags at something in the back of Vladimir’s mind but he decides to ignore it for the moment.

Vladimir keeps quiet, waits for them to ask their questions.

"How did you survive that night Vladimir?" Murdock asks.

Vladimir shrugs. "I do not know. I woke up a week later after someone found me."

"Who found you?"

"A doctor."

“A doctor?”

Vladimir nods. "Da. A doctor. They saved me." Vladimir's lip curls as he says, "Why? I do not know."

"Brett said Daredevil found you," Foggy says, "He wouldn't have gone after you without reason."

"He is suspicious man, that Daredevil."

"What were you doing back here?" Murdock asks.

"There are - what's the expression? - knots to be tied."

"You came here to tie up loose ends?" Nelson asks.

"Da. That."

"What loose ends, Vladimir?" Nelson asks.

Vladimir stares down at his hands and cracks one knuckle. "There are things," he says slowly, "that need to be… dealt with."

"About?"

Vladimir looks up. Both lawyers' mouths are in thin lines. Murdock's eyebrows are pinched and his head is tilted to one side.

"Does this have to do with your… old business?" Murdock asks.

Vladimir scoffs and shakes his head.

Nelson says, "He just shook his head."

Vladimir shakes his head again. "Nyet. I left that life behind the night of explosions. No. This is personal." He cracks another knuckle and shakes his handcuffed hand. The chain rattles and he glares at it.

He looks up at the two again. "Can I leave? I was doing nothing when that masked mu- man found me."

"Do you know how he found you?" Murdock asks.

"Nyet. Man is like d'yavol." Poor Semyon. "I do not know how he tracks who he seeks. It is… inhuman."

"You think he's the Devil?" Nelson asks.

Vladimir raises an eyebrow (Nelson narrates that too). What does that have to do with anything? He answers the question anyway. "No. I have seen him bleed."

"So you really were doing nothing?" Nelson asks.

" _ Yes _ ," Vladimir says. 

The two exchange glances and Nelson shrugs. They turn back and look at Vladimir. "Do you have a place to stay, Vladimir?" Murdock asks.

Vladimir's eyebrows furrow. "I have place, yes."

The lawyers exchange another look. "Alright," Murdock says. "There will be a trial-"

Vladimir shoots out of his chair and his eyes widen. "Nyet. Not here. If trial is here Fisk kills me. Or his men." He rapidly shakes his head. " _ Please _ . Not here." He looks between the two. "Pozhaluysta. Pozhaluysta."

Vladimir can feel his heart thundering, reminding him of those old documentaries Anatolty watched. Specifically with the stampeding herds. He feels like those animals now, can feel the hot breath of a predator at his heels. He can feel his heart beating against his throat and he sits back down shakily. Maybe he'll be joining Anatoly sooner than he thought

The lawyers step out of the room. Vladimir can't hear what they're saying. He tunes out their voices and tries to get his heart under control. 

They aren't charging. He sags against the chair when he tells them. They don’t sound happy about it, at all, but they  _ aren’t charging _ . Since he wasn't doing anything that night and since all the evidence that could have been found was destroyed there isn't that he  _ can _ be charged with. At least not in America. He knows the two wouldn't want to defend him anyway. 

He goes with them back to their office where they can "keep an eye on him." The blonde woman from the whole Union Allied mess is there working for them. Karen, he thinks her name is, avoids him.

He avoids the eyes of other clients that stream in and out of the building. "Soon," he whispers to himself. 

Murdock looks up from his reading. “Did you say something?”

Vladimir shakes his head. “Nyet.” Leave it to him to have hearing like a bat. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent with Vladimir dozing and occasionally jerking awake. The three of them start packing their bags later and Vladimir stands and stretches. He stands there, awkwardly, and avoiding their eyes. 

“Vladimir,” Murdock says. Vladimir looks at him.

“Da?”

“Let’s go.” 

“Where?” he asks, as he follows the trio out of the office and out into the street. 

“Where we can keep an eye on you. Come on.”

They end up in an overcrowded bar. Half the people in place are carrying and Vladimir wishes he still has his gun, instead of it being locked up at the station. 

The three friends end up at a pool table and Vladimir lurks in the shadows, keeping the scarred side of his face to the wall. Every so often they cast him a glance before turning back to their game. 

He wishes even more for his weapon when a man keeps staring their group down. Murdock ends up going over and talking to him and then the four of them are sitting at a table. “Ahh, Vladimir.” Murdock makes a waving motion with one hand gives him a grin when Vladimir gets the hint and steps off to the side.

It isn’t hard to figure out what happened to him, what with the blood dripping from his clothes, the nervous tapping on his gun, and the accent staining his words. Vladimir manages to hear that an entire family was taken out, seemingly by an army. Vladimir guesses it’s the lone man and he moves deeper into the shadows. 

The man falls as Murdock is asking a question. Vladimir can’t tell what’s happening over the throng of people but he can hear Karen say, “Guys… he’s bleeding.” 

They get an ambulance there and Karen goes with them. Nelson practically has to pry him out of the corner he found and then he’s following them to the club, Burren it’s called, that was hit. 

Vladimir waits across the street keeping his eyes on the dark alleys and unlit streets. His gaze strays up to the rooftops, Daredevil nor The Punisher seem to be out tonight. Vladimir beats out an erratic rhythm on his thigh and thinks of going back to his apartment. He could stay holed up there for a few days. Wait everything out.

He and the lawyers end up exchanging numbers. They’ll be telling him exactly what’s going to happen to him in the coming days. He goes back to the apartment then, making sure to lock the doors and windows. The new vigilante won’t be finding him, not yet, at least. Even then Vladimir won’t let Punisher kill him. He survived too much to die like that.

Later that night Vladimir can hear Daredevil, the screams and sirens, he runs to them. Vladimir knows he was vital in imprisoning Fisk; wonders how he’s taking the news of his escape, on top of all these criminal organizations being gunned down.

Vladimir can’t sleep that night. His chest is tight with fear and he ends up pacing the length of the apartment. Anatoly’s door is closed and the jacket that was in his closet is now in Vladimir’s. He’ll be taking it home with him. 

He goes back into his room after pacing has worn on him and cuts one of his old shirts into rags. He wipes down the curtains and the table that’s there. He’s exhausted but can’t sleep. Vladimir lays on the couch with the bottle of vodka and drinks it slowly and watches the sky outside the windows. He sees Daredevil again, jumping down the fire escape on the building across the street. 

Over the course of the next few days, Vladimir found out where Fisk was hiding out. He had found a note, written in Russian, slipped under his door. Before that, they had called so he was expecting it. It surprised him still. He hadn’t known they knew which apartment was his.

It wouldn’t matter though, by the next week. As soon as Fisk was dead Vladimir would be fleeing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if I ever go a few weeks without updating this feel free to say something in the comments since I probably just forgot about uploading


	19. Chapter 19

Fisk was allegedly staying at an abandoned hotel. It had been closed years prior, due to health and building code issues. His company had bought it shortly before his arrest.

Vladimir had yet to see him. He was scoping the hotel out in a nearby apartment. He had left the majority of his belongings in the other place, save for a change of clothes, some cash, and another bottle of vodka. 

The alcohol was cheap,  it didn’t have the same feel as the better stuff . Vladimir took a swing of it and settled against the wall of the roof access. He could see faint silhouettes moving behind the windows but none of them were Fisk.

He adjusted the scope and rested a finger against his pistol’s trigger. Any minute now. 

Once the sun peaked above the horizon Vladimir gave a bitter sigh and stood. He stretched and retreated back into the apartment. Fisk  _ had  _ to be there. Vladimir tapped a rhythm on the arm of the couch. His head dropped and he sighed. 

Maybe… He laid out on the couch and closed his eyes. That law firm could probably do something about it. Since he couldn’t manage to even  _ see  _ the bastard. 

He dreamed of his brother, with the blood coating him, swirling away with the water, falling off his body in rivulets. A cruel voice and taunting laughter rang in his ears as pain and hopelessness racked him. 

Tears stain his face when Vladimir wakes and his breath comes out in rasps. It hurts again, the scars. He sits slowly, leaning against the couch’s backrest, wincing when the tight skin pulls. 

It’s early when he leaves the apartment. He goes back to the other, the safe house, and changes. He eats quickly, it isn’t much but at least it's  _ something _ , and leaves again.

As soon as the other people see him he can see the judgement and fear in their faces. Most of those are tourists. Back before Fisk people were used to seeing him and Anatoly, their scars, back where they kept to. In  _ their  _ territory. Vladimir doesn't know who rules it now, if anyone does, or if it was taken over by kids and their up-and-starter gangs.

Nelson and Murdock aren’t in the office when he gets there. Neither is Page.

They find him there later. He’s leaning against the wall, smoking. Murdock frowns at him while Nelson fans the smoke away.

“Put that out,” Murdock says.

Vladimir raises an eyebrow. “Kuda? Where?”

“ _ Outside _ .” Murdock sighs a little. “Then come back here.”

Vladimir frowns but does as Murdock says. When he comes back Karen and Nelson are waiting for him. Murdock is talking to a harried-looking client in his office.

“What do you need?” Nelson asks.

“I have information,” Vladimir says. He rubs the spot where Daredevil burned him, it hurts today, along with everything else. He sucks in a breath at a twinge of pain in his side and looks up. Murdock is in the waiting area too now. The client in his office is filling out some form.

“Fisk escaped. I have information on where he is. Might be, I mean.” 

“Where did you get this information from?” Nelson asks.    
  
Murdock tips his head to one side ever so slightly. Vladimir narrows his head at it and says, “An old friend. Somehow survived. I figured you three could do something.” Vladimir grits his teeth and tries to push the pain to the back of his mind. “He is staying in old hotel. Shut down years ago. I’ve seen people there.”

“Who?” Karen asks.

Vladimir shakes his head. “I don’t know. Just saw shadow. More than one though, I did not see woman though.” 

“Just, one, woman?”

“Da. One I am talking about. Is one. She and Fisk were-” he makes a motion with a hand and Nelson says ‘dating’ to Murdock. “I not see her here. Not since last year.”

“What hotel was it?” Karen asks. “The Fermita?”

“Da. Yes. That one. He bought it before he was arrested.” 

Vladimir leaves then, before they can ask more questions, ones he won’t know how to answer. He knows they want to keep him there, he can see it in their faces, but they let him go.

Later that night Vladimir made his way back to the apartment across the street from the hotel. He kept his eyes on the windows, eyeing them through the scope. When he saw a large brutish figure he took his chance and pulled the trigger until the gun was emptied of bullets.

He retreated quickly, bringing the weapons with him, and stashing them in the apartment. He checked the place, making sure nothing found there could be traced back to him. He pulled the gloves off his hands and shoved them in the jacket pockets.

The police would be nearing any minute now. On any night sirens could be heard, tonight was no different. Vladimir didn’t know where they were going but he fled anyway. He burned the gloves before going back to his apartment.

The rest of the night was spent there, in a drunken haze. It kept his anxious thoughts worry at bay. And the grief. 

“I’ll be coming home soon Toly,” Vladimir said. “I'll see you then. I can bring flowers. For you, our parents.” He closed his eyes and turned his face from the window. The light was getting on his nerves again. “I miss you.” 

Vladimir grabbed his phone from the bedside table. Flipped it open and found the list of contacts. He stared down at it, thumb hovering over Anatoly’s name. He bit his lip and pressed the call button. He brought the phone to his ear and choked out a sob. It was Anatoly’s voice… Just a recorded message but  _ him _ . “Hey brother,” Vladimir whispered. “I’m sorry I put you there, in the ground. I know you can’t call back but I’d like to hear your voice. Actually  _ you _ . I miss you Toly. Please, come back to me?” The message ended and Vladimir ended the call. He didn’t get much sleep that night.


	20. Chapter 20

Fisk was somehow still alive. The bullets had missed him entirely or ended up stopped by his armour. The citizens were already spinning rumours. 

And Vladimir? He paced his apartment, clenching and unclenching his fists. The Punisher would be out for him now, he had already heard whispers on the streets. Aslan had called him, told him to stay off the streets, people had figured out he was still alive. The lawyers called, kept calling him. He never answered.

Vladimir chucked one of the empty bottles. It hit the hall and shattered to the ground. He kicked the broken glass to the side and scowled at it. He cracked his knuckles, got another bottle from the fridge, and tried to drown out the fire in his chest. 

The alcohol only fueled it, however, and he ended back on the rooftop. As he was lining the scope up with the building he failed to see the shadow behind him, notice the crunch of gravel. 

There was a sharp crack and he was thrown off the roof, onto the fire-escape of the top floor. Heat blossomed in his shoulder. He tried to sit up and slumped down when he couldn’t. 

Vladimir managed to dig his phone out of his jacket pocket and open it. He hit one of the contacts listed there, his eyes were blurring too much to tell which. His eyes drooped closed and his breaths came up in ragged gasps. 

Time slipped away and there were sirens and flashing lights washing over his face. There were footsteps and something flashed in his eyes. “Tólja?” he whimpered. There were murmured worried voices.

He tried to shrink away from the hands and found the metal of the fire-escape blocked his attempt. There was a voice saying something to him, he couldn’t tell what. He shied away from the people. It was cold, hot, painful. Vladimir squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulder was hot and wet and pulsing with his heartbeat. 

There was a siren again, louder, surrounding him, in his head. He heard a voice again, still not understanding what was being said. He blinked dazedly and closed his eyes again.

An insistent beeping wakes him. Vladimir grumbles and waves one hand. Stupid machines with their stupid beeping. He grumbles again when it doesn’t stop or quiet down. He manages to pry his eyes open and realizes he doesn’t recognize where he is. The walls are white and the room is brightly lit. He’s in a hospital, he realizes. 

Vladimir panics then. He had heard what happened to Grotto when Punisher found out where he was. The beeping speeds up with the thud of his heart. He looks around the room, the door is too far and the drugs are weighing him down too much for him to do anything.

The door opens and he manages to sit up. He blinks rapidly and his vision clears enough that he can recognize the person is not Frank Castle. Vladimir’s chest heaves with his pants and the doctor all but runs to his side. “ Chto ? Kto?” 

“You’re in a hospital,” she says. “Metro General. I’m Dr. Ĉielo. What’s your name?” 

“I did not call hospital,” Vladimir slurs before his eyes are closing. 

The doctor says something but her words are swept away and he doesn’t hear them.

When Vladimir wakes next he feels heavy, drained. The smell of antiseptic and cleaner hangs heavy in the air. He cracks one eye open. The ceiling and walls are blank save for a few charts by the door. He opens his other eye and looks around the room. The sky outside is blue and grey; either dawn or dusk then. He doesn’t know how he got here, doesn’t remember calling for an ambulance or police.

The door opens and a person wearing a white coat comes in. They look almost startled when they see he’s awake. “Oh. You’re awake. I’m Dr. Ĉielo. Do you know why you’re here?”

Vladimir looks around the room and back at the doctor. He shakes his head. “Nyet.” 

“You speak English?”

“...Yes.”

“You were admitted a few days ago. You were shot, left shoulder. You understand?” Vladimir nods and the doctor continues, “You went into surgery. Two days ago you were awake for a few minutes but you weren’t coherent and have been asleep since.” 

Vladimir closes his eyes and opens them slowly. “Okay.”

“How do you feel?”

Vladimir shrugs and feels pain spike in his shoulder that spread to his arm and chest. He tries to grab his shoulder but finds his hand being yanked back. He looks down. His hand is handcuffed to the bedrail. He tugs it to no avail. “My shoulder was shot?”

The doctor nods. “Yes. We believe by Frank Castle since he was seen in the area you were found.” The doctor pauses then asks, “Your name is Vladimir, correct?”

Vladimir scowls at the ceiling. “Da. Yes. Who called? I didn’t.” He doesn’t know what number he ended up calling that night. 

“We don’t know. They didn’t give a name and no one was there when the paramedics arrived.”

Vladimir closes his eyes. That doesn’t clear anything up. 

“The call button is here.” His hand is placed on something and he opens his eyes. “And if you need more pain medication press here.” The doctor pointed to a different, smaller button beneath the call one.

“Okay.”

“Do you have any questions?”

He shakes his head. “Nyet. No.”

“Alright. Nelson and Murdock will be in here soon.”

The doctor leaves and Vladimir’s thumb finds the button for the pain medication. He drifts away, not fully asleep, not fully awake.

Vladimir wakes to fingers at his wrist and a blood pressure cuff around his arm. He turns his head and sees the same doctor from before. Dr. Ĉielo, if he’s remembering correctly.

Dr. Ĉielo notices he’s awake and asks, “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine. What happened to my arm?” 

“The bullet went all the way through but it did damage the bone and muscle there.” She peels back the bandages and then adjusts them. “The bandages will need changed today.”

Vladimir watches her leave. There is something he wasn’t being told. He doesn’t think anything of it though and lets sleep tug him back under.

Someone knocks on the door later, startling Vladimir awake. Nelson and Murdock step through the doors and sit in the chairs by the bed. Vladimir tries to sit up and leans back with a frustrated sigh when the pain stops him.

“Vladimir,” Nelson said. “How are you?”

“I have been better.” Vladimir looks at Murdock and the lawyer smiles. The man was not normal, Vladimir thought. There was just something about him… And the fact that he somehow recognized his voice when he had never met him. “The doctor said the bullet damaged bone and muscle but didn’t mention… what is it called in English? Something with…”

“Physical therapy?” Murdock asks, leaning forward. 

“Yes. That. She did not mention that.”

“Vladimir,” Nelson says, “They found a gun on you. Multiple ones. And a knife.” 

“And I would like them back,” Vladimir says, grumbling a little.

“You don’t get them back Vladimir,” Nelson says. “The building they found you in was the one the gunshots came from a few nights ago. They also found a gun on the roof. We think the best thing for you to do would to plead guilty-”

Vladimir shakes his head, making himself dizzy. “No. No. Fisk will have me killed. No matter what the sentence is it will end in my death.”

“We could get you in protective custody,” Murdock says. “It will keep you safe while you serve the sentence.”

“Which would be? What am I being… charged… with?”

There was… a lot. Illegally selling and using firearms, human trafficking, kidnapping, assault. And those were the ones they had evidence for. 

“Can I be tried here? I do not have American citizenship.”

They didn’t answer the question. Instead, Murdock says, “If you are tried here you could be facing twenty years, or more, of jail time.”

Vladimir has no intention of spending twenty years in prison. He had escaped Utkin, surely he could escape whatever American prison he was in, if he was sent to one. In any case, anywhere would be better than Utkin. 

“Am I being tried here?” Vladimir asks.

The two lawyers looked at each other. “We don’t know yet,” Nelson says. “We’ll tell you when we know more.”

“Fisk escaped! No one is looking for him! What does it matter if they find him… dead.”

“Saying that could get you convicted of attempted murder,” Murdock says.

Vladimir sighs. Tugs his chained hand. “Can this be taken off?” He looks at them and tugs it again.

Nelson exchanges a look with Murdock then says, “We can ask later.”

Vladimir sighs and blinks slowly. The seconds slip away and Nelson is saying, “Maybe we should leave Matt. He looks,” Nelson pauses and looks at him, Vladimir can’t be bothered to meet his gaze, “exhausted.” 

“Am fine,” Vladimir grumbles and he slouches into the bed. 

“Sure you are,” Nelson says and Vladimir scowls. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t get into any trouble.”

“As if I could,” Vladimir mutters in Russian. “Being here, like sitting duck.” The two lawyers leave and he lets his eyes close.

When he wakes next the room is dark and the shadows appear to be looming. His eyes widen and he scrambles back. Pain shoots through his shoulder and he stops, chest heaving. 

Someone hushes him and he turns towards the voice. “Easy. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember?”

Vladimir nods. 

“I just knocked a cup over. Sorry to startle you.”

Vladimir tilts his head and squints. Alex is sitting slouched in the chair looking ruffled. “I heard you were back in town. You didn’t call.”

“Were you expecting me to?” Vladimir mutters.

Alex scoffs. “Of course I was. Go back to sleep.” Alex runs a hand through his hair and Vladimir sighs at the touch. “I probably won’t be here when you wake up.”

Vladimir wakes up again when a nurse is taking his vitals. He feels a tug on the IV and he cracks an eye open. It’s the nurse the masked man knows. He doesn’t remember her name.

She notices he’s awake and asks, “How’s the pain?” she sounds angry. Tired. 

“Fine,” Vladimir says. He looks away and keeps his eyes mostly closed. “I am sorry,” he whispers as the nurse is finishing up.  She was good and didn’t deserve what he told his men to do to her.

She just shakes her head at him and leaves once she’s finished. 

The room blurs and Vladimir yawns. His shoulder is numb now, he can’t really feel it at all now. He shifts, trying to get comfortable with his bandaged shoulder and chained hand. His eyes close and he drifts into an uneasy sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

The lawyers go into his room as soon as they hear he's awake. 

"Why are you back?" Vladimir asks, voice hostile. Why can't they just leave him, Vladimir wonders.

"We  _ are _ your lawyers," Murdock says.

Vladimir scoffs and turns his head away from them. He would have rolled over if not for his injured shoulder and chained hand. "Do you want to be?"

The silence answers for them. 

"What were you doing on the roof that night?" Murdock asks.

Vladimir shrugs his uninjured shoulder. "You already know. Am I being arrested?"

"Yeah. You are. The best thing to do now would be to plead guilty and take whatever deal they give you."

Vladimir blinks slowly and faces the two lawyers. "I will die then. Fisk will have me killed." 

"We already told you you could be put in protective custody," Murdock says. 

"Does not matter. You know nothing. Neither of you do. Would I even get deal?"

The two exchange a look. "I'm sure you know something they could use," Murdock says.

Vladimir faces away from them again. "And Fisk? What about him?"

"They'll find Fisk," Nelson says. "He'll be put back in prison."

Vladimir snorts and shakes his head. "There is only one way to stop that man." He looks at Murdock. The way his voice was familiar, how he talked… "But I already told  _ you _ that." 

Murdock goes rigid and Vladimir knows his guess was correct. "What are you talking about?" Murdock asks and Vladimir can hear the stiff tremor in his voice. 

"You know. Masked mudak." Vladimir shifts on the bed and lets out a hiss of pain. "Does he know?" Vladimir asks, nodding in Foggy's direction.

"How'd he find out?" Nelson asks while Murdock leans forward and says, "That isn't important now."

"You know I knew I was right by your reaction. Had you done different I would have thought I was wrong." 

Matt frowns and massages his forehead. "Vladimir. We are trying to help you."

"And you don't want to so just stop," Vladimir snaps. He turns away again and ignores them when they try to talk to them again.

Eventually, they stand and leave. "We'll come back later," Nelson says. Vladimir huffs at him but doesn't say anything.

The bandages are changed later, pulling him from sleep. His skin tugs and burns and he tries to shrink away from it. 

When the nurse leaves he tries to flex his hand. Pain shoots down it and he lets it drop to his side with a sigh. He presses the button to the pain medicine and tries to sleep.

The lawyers are back in the room when he wakes next. "What now?" Vladimir groans.

"The police were looking into what happened," Murdock says. "Along with everything else you're being charged with attempted murder."

“You would have been charged with 1st-degree murder if you actually hit him," Nelson tells him. "Do you know what that gets you here?”

Vladimir glowers. “I am not American,” he says.

“Don’t you care what’ll happen to you?”

Vladimir shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“Look,” Nelson says, “I get that you’re angry-”

“No shit!” Vladimir’s chest heaves and he glares at the two.

Murdock turns to his partner. Quietly says, “Let me talk to him.”

Nelson, albeit looking nervous, nods and leaves.

“Look, Vladimir,” Murdock says once the door closes, “You could end up in person or worse. You are wanted. You could’ve been arrested when we first met. You didn’t finish that sentence in Utkin-”   
  


“Like hell, I would,” Vladimir says under his breath and Murdock frowns.

“I understand that rage, Vladimir.”   
  
Vladimir rises out of the bed as much as he can. “You understand it!?”

Murdock pushes him back down with a gentle hand. “I do. My father was murdered. I had recently lost my sight and all I had was him. A few years ago a… friend, offered him to me. On a silver platter, so to speak. I wanted to kill him.”

“And did you?” 

“No. You can not kill Fisk. It will not end well for you. The best thing for you to do would be to confess to your crime.”

"And what'll happen to me then?"

"That's for the judge to decide," Murdock says and there's something in his tone that unnerves Vladimir.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Nelson knocks then and comes in. Vladimir tugs at the handcuff, he needs it off if he's going to get out of the hospital alive. "Can these be taken off, now?"

"We'll have to-"

Vladimir tugs at them harder and Nelson grabs his wrist. "Stop yanking it like that. You're going to end up cutting yourself."

"Get your hand off me."

"Are you going to stop?"

"Take the handcuffs off and then I will."

Nelson sigh.”Vladimir even if I wanted to we wouldn’t be allowed to.”

"There are police outside?" Vladimir asks.

"Yeah. There are," Nelson says.

Vladimir looks at the two of them. "Am I going back to Utkin?"

"There's a chance," Murdock says, "but we'll try to keep that from happening."

Going back to Utkin… This time alone. Oleg died, Lyosha died, Anatoly almost died after he had gotten sick. 

He escaped once but he had Anatoly then. Now he would be going in alone. They would be prepared. Vladimir shuddered, suddenly plagued by memories he tried so hard to forget. He shivers again and lets out a shaky breath.

"You alright?" Nelson asks.

Vladimir doesn't know how to answer. "Do I look like I'm okay?" he asks, laughing, with no humour. He rests his head on the pillow and closes his head. "Utkin was hell. If I'm going back there, Castle might as well have killed me."

"I take it that it was bad then," Murdock says.

"Bad!? Bad is nothing. American prison is day camp compared to it. That place was hell for us. I won't survive it this time," Vladimir adds voice quiet, resigned. 

"We're going to try to keep that from happening," Nelson says. He pats Vladimir on his injured arm. 

Vladimir isn’t sure how to respond. “You still Grotto’s lawyers?”

“How’d you find out?” Murdock asks.

“Was not hard. You talked to him so.” Vladimir shrugs. “Why are police outside?”

“For your safety,” Nelson says. “And so you won’t try to escape.”

Vladimir snorts at that. “As if I could go anywhere. With my arm?” He nods to his arm. “No. It would not be smart.” 

There’s a ringing then. Vladimir reaches for his phone and Nelson hands it to him. “Hello?”

“Volodya?” Nikolia’s voice is trembling. From fear or anger, Vladimir does not know.

“Speaking.”

“Where have you been!? You haven’t been answering and-”

“Kolya, breath. I’m fine.”

There’s a pause. “What’s that beeping noise?” Nikolai asks, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it nothing Volodya?”

Vladimir sighs. “Get Alyosha. I can explain.”

“Lyoshen'ka! It’s Vladimir!” 

“Why haven’t you been answering?” Alexei asks, voice full of accusation. “What’s that beeping?”

Vladimir looks to the lawyers, Nelson, watching him and pretending not to. Murdock has his head tipped to one side. Like he’s listening to something. “It’s a monitor,” he says, finally.

“Monitoring what?” Nikolai asks. 

Vladimir drums his fingers on the bed and stops when pain shoots up his arm to his shoulder. “It’s in a hospital. Where I am.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Vladimir sighs. “I am in the hospital and I was the one who got hurt. I don’t know when I’ll get out so it’ll be a while before I get back home. It’s just my arm, promise.” He shifts on the bed and winces. He lets his eyes flutter closed. Air puffs through his lips and he shifts so breathing is more comfortable.

“You’ll be fine then?” Alexei asks.

“I think so.” Vladimir grimaces at the throbbing pain and he hits the button for the pain medicine. He sighs when the medicine washes the pain away.

“Volodya?”

“I’m still here. What is it?”

“You  _ are  _ coming back, right?”

“Yes, Kolya,” Vladimir slurs. “I promise.” His eyes droop shut and Nelson gently pulls the phone out of his hand. Vladimir moves his arm back to his side. He can hear the two demanding answers from the two lawyers, Alexei is yelling for Nikolai to come back, the two lawyers don’t know Russian and his English isn’t good enough to have a conversation.

The phone ends up on speaker so the lawyers can answer questions at the same time. Vladimir drifts off just as he hears Nikolai asking what’s going to happen to Vladimir, if he’ll be able to come back. Vladimir doesn’t hear what the lawyers have for an answer.


	22. Chapter 22

He can feel warmth, a rag washing away blood and dirt. A hand runs through his hair. He drifts.

The bandage covering the stitches is pulled off. The sharp tugging wakes Vladimir instantly. He blinks, sees it’s just a nurse, and he drifts off again.

He’s too hot, heat is pulsing under his skin and reaching out, beyond his wounded shoulder. It stays, sticky and sickly sweet. He sleeps to get away from it.

He can see the sun, bright in his eyes, blinding him. He tries to block the light with a hand but he can’t, his arms are too heavy.

Vladimir can hear his brother's voice. He recognizes the sounds Anatoly makes but can’t pick apart what he’s saying. Vladimir thinks his brother should come closer, be by his side. Anatoly doesn’t listen. 

Everything is hurting. Even his long healed scars are, and those stopped bothering him years ago. He tries not to cry out, doesn't want to draw attention to himself. His body doesn’t listen.

There’s an insistent beeping in his ears. He can’t stop it, make it go away. He just wants it to be quiet.

He thinks he sees Anatoly. He tries to reach out but he’s laying there, trapped. The figure that may be Anatoly fades away into nothingness. 

There’s a voice in his ear. It’s gentle, whispering. He can’t understand what it’s telling him. 

Vladimir wakes. There’s tube threading behind his ears. The plastic rests beneath his nose. He tries to pull it away but a hand stops him. It’s Alex, sitting in the chair beside him. Vladimir closes his eyes again. 

When Vladimir wakes again he can make out the shape of someone sitting in one of the chairs. He opens his eyes fully and blinks. It was… he can’t remember the man's name but he worked under Sergei. 

"Vladimir?" The man stands. "It's me. Aslan."

Vladimir nods slowly, remembering him now. "Did… did someone take over?" He has to know, has to know who’s did.

Aslan nodded. "Damien did. We heard you were alive but not planning on coming back."

"It's true." Vladimir closes his eyes. "Not without Anatoly. Are things well?" He hopes they are. He owes his men that, at least.

"They are. I have to go now." 

"Thank you. For coming." 

Aslan nods. As he passes the bed he brushes his fingers across Vladimir's uninjured hand. 

"Maybe I'll come by sometime," Vladimir murmurs just before Aslan steps outside.

Daylight streaming through the windows wakes Vladimir this time. He’s utterly exhausting, there's an aching feeling in his bones, weighing him down. There’s a new IV, this one in the crook of his elbow. 

“I wondered when you’d wake up.”

Vladimir groans. “What happened?”

“You had a pretty bad fever. It’s been three days now.”

Vladimir looks over at Murdock. He’s doing the head tilting thing again. “Why do you do that?” Vladimir asks.

“Do what?” Murdock asks.

“You know…” 

Vladimir tilts his head and Nelson says, “He’s tilting his head now.” Nelson sits in the second chair and asks Vladimir, “You asking about why Matt does that?”

“I guess.”

“Old habit,” Murdock says. “It’s easier to figure out where sounds are coming from.”

“Oh.” Vladimir squeezes his eyes shut. He had been so sure Anatoly was standing over him, watching, just mere inches away from his fingertips.

“Vladimir,” Murdock says in the gentlest voice he’s heard from him, “we need to talk about what’s going to happen-”

Vladimir tunes him and Nelson out and stares up at the ceiling. It’s mostly white. In one corner there’s a brownish spot, there must’ve been a leaky pipe. He wonders how the hospital is being paid for. They probably found one of the apartments Fisk didn’t burn. Vladimir knows some are still standing. 

“Vladimir? Are you listening?”

“What is point? Where am I going?” He looks over. Both lawyers' faces are grim. “Just tell me. I would rather know, not be surprised.”

“Back to Russia,” Nelson says. “Since you aren’t a citizen here… as soon as you're well enough to be moved that’s what’ll happen.”

His heart is beating erratically in his chest now. With the number of enemies, he and Anatoly have made, how many people they’ve hurt, how many people hate them in turn.  _ Utkin _ . “Any specific place?”

“That will probably be decided later,” Murdock says. “You have money to pay for everything?”

Vladimir jerks his head as he nods. Bites his lip and closes his eyes. It would have been foolish not to save money away, storing it where only he and Anatoly could find it. His fingers curl and he grips the bedsheet. 

“Do you have all the details?” Vladimir asks as he picks at the sheet.

“Not yet,” Murdock says. “I’m sure we will soon though. We can tell you then?”

“They did tell us you didn’t finish your sentence in Utkin though,” Nelson says and Vladimir freezes.

He forces his hands to relax and he keeps his eyes downward. “And?”

“You’re going to have to finish it.”

Vladimir scratches the hand of his injured shoulder. Keeps his eyes on the tattoos there. He can hear the heart rate monitor pick up and he knows Murdock will be able to hear it with his bat ears.  _ Utkin _ . The sun never shone there. The light wouldn’t reach the cells where they were kept. 

A hand reaches for him and Vladimir flinches. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Murdock says, dismissive as usual. 

“Fine,” Vladimir says like he’s tasting the word. “You think I will be ‘fine’?” He looks up and looks at Murdock. “Fine,” he repeats and shakes his head. “‘Fine’ does not exist in Utkin.” He escaped once but now they’ll be ready for him. Waiting with chains and cold rooms. Sharp steel, blunted metal. Pain. Death. Bright shining cold. 

Vladimir lets out a heaving breath. He can almost see the frost hanging from it, taste the dirt and blood that hung heavy in the air. He breathes in again and instead smells antiseptic and bleach. His chest is too tight, painful. He breathes in again, tries to quell the panic. Vladimir manages to draw a breath in and the feeling eases.

“Has anyone called?” he asks. 

“No,” Nelson says. “Not since those kids.”

“I need to call them,” Vladimir says and he reaches for his phone.    
  
Nelson hands it to him and then he and Murdock leave the room.

Vladimir calls Nikolai and Alexei. Tells them what’s happening, explains why he hasn’t been calling. He tells them what’s going to happen to him and hangs up to avoid their questions. He doesn’t answer when his phone rings, and then the next two times. He lets it vibrate beside him on the bed, ignores the ringing wail. 

He focuses upwards, towards the ceiling. He maps out the lines, and faint cracks moving away from speckled water spots. Finds shapes among the lines and discolourations. Anything to keep thoughts of the old prison at bay. 

Nightmares plague Vladimir that night, sparking old memories he tried so hard to bury and never think about. His god-awful childhood, the time spent separated from Anatoly, thinking him dead or dying. Having his brother’s headless body bright to him. Fisk, bringing their empire to the ground.

Vladimir wakes up, drenched in sweat. He wipes his eyes, feeling the wetness of tears there. Now he won’t even be able to get his revenge, won’t be able to avenge his brother’s life. He wanted to spill Fisk’s blood, stain the ground with it, and now he won’t get a drop. 

A choked sob escapes him and Vladimir is quick to stifle the ones that try to follow. If he’s seen as any weaker someone might try to work their way into the room, finish him off in the dead of night. He doesn’t know who is left on Fisk’s payroll, or if anyone is. 

Even if no one is he would not be surprised if someone tried to kill him anyway. Someone with a vendetta, someone else aching for enemy blood to be spilt. Vladimir thinks that he has made too many enemies in this life. Too many enemies, too few friends. No one to care, no one to notice. He closes his eyes and forces those thoughts away. They never did do him any good.


	23. Chapter 23

Apparently, the hospital has finally decided to let Vladimir wear regular clothes. Or maybe they had grown tired of his complaining about the scratchy fabric and caved.

In any case, he’s forced to endure the wound being poked and prodded. The bandage is changed and he’s subjected to a sponge path before they let him change. He’s mortified. 

The nurse who had been helping had tried to engage in small talk, something Vladimir had adamantly refused and ignored. The nurse in question had frozen at the sight of the tattoo on the inside of his right wrist.

“What does that mean?” she asked. By her tone, Vladimir guessed she knows or at least has a slight idea of its meaning.

“Oh, this?” Vladimir’s lips tugged up in a smirk. “I can’t tell you,” he purred.

The nurse’s eyes widened and she stepped back as soon as Vladimir had gotten his arm through the sleeve of the shirt. “Sorry to ask then,” she said, voice shaky. “Do you need help with the buttons?”   
  
“The buttons?” Vladimir scoffs. “Of course not. Go. I do them myself.”

He could not do them himself. He was glaring at said buttons frustratedly and with all the anger he could muster when the lawyers came into the room. His arm was absolutely useless and twinged with pain whenever he so much as moved a finger.

“Need some help with that?” Nelson asks when he notices.

“Nyet,” Vladimir spits, and he hikes up the blanket so it’s draped over his shoulders and covering everything under his collar bones. He doesn’t want them seeing the tattoos, demanding their meanings. Like the nurse had done.

Nelson does notice the uncovered tattoo on his wrist. The same one that terrified the nurse.  “Isn’t that-” Nelson gulps and his eyes widening as he tries to get a closer look at it and recognizes it.

“Is what that?” Murdock asks.

“A tattoo. It’s-”

“Shut up,” Vladimir growls before Nelson can finish describing it. 

“He can’t see it,” Nelson says.

“Good,” Vladimir snaps.

“What is it?” Murdock asks, eyebrows furrowing. He’s frowning, clearly  perplexed.

“Remember when Tony Stark was found in that desert? Those people that kidnapped him-” Nelson snaps his mouth shut at the venomous look Vladimir gives him. 

“Yeah. What does that have to do with this?”

“Well-”

“I said to stop talking,” Vladimir says, practically snarling it. 

“Why can’t I tell him?” Nelson asks. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“And nothing bad would happen?” Nelson asks, using a tone that says he thinks he’s winning whatever this is. Nelson takes Vladimir’s silence as a ‘no’ and tells Murdock, “It’s ten rings in the shape of a circle. In the middle of it, there are two crossed swords.”

Vladimir sniffs haughtily and turns his head away. He doesn't want to look at either of them, doesn’t want them in the room with him. 

“What’s with you?” Nelson asks suddenly. “You aren’t usually so… huffy.”

Vladimir scoffs and rests his head against the pillows. Still facing away he says, “You would not understand.”

“Try me.”

“Nyet. Go away.”

“You might feel better if you talk about it.”

Vladimir laughs bitterly. “The only person I could talk to about things like this is dead. How can I talk to the dead? He will not answer.”  _ Because of you,  _ a voice whispers to him. Vladimir chases it away. A staggering of events like toppling dominoes led to his brother’s death. And yet…

“Oh,” Nelson says. 

His chest is too tight, choking, clawing up. Vladimir chokes on a sob and throws his good arm over his face. He wonders if Anatoly had ever heard when he went to visit his grave or if his spirit is stuck in America, confined to their fallen empire. 

Tears are flowing down his face now. Either Nelson doesn’t notice or he’s kind even not to comment. Vladimir knows Murdock knows. The man can probably taste the salt in the air. 

From Princes of Moscow to shitting in buckets to Kings to… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Vladimir’s back at the starting point but now his brother is dead. He can’t stop the next sob. He presses his forearm against his mouth, squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears. Vladimir hopes Anatoly has found peace in the past but if he hasn’t...

Anatoly must feel so alone, in the cold dirt, wandering the halls of the warehouses, the streets of New York. Alone. Lost. Vladimir knows he would. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder, warm, gentle. Vladimir can’t find the strength to push it away. The hand pats his shoulder once before it retreats away. Vladimir can hear footsteps but not the opening and closing of the door. 

The two lawyers murmur, having a hushed conversation somewhere in the room. Vladimir kicks up the blanket with his foot and pulls it over his shoulders. The room seems so cold now. 

The rest of the time sent in the hospital blurs. Vladimir spends most of the time asleep. When he’s awake he chokes down the food and pills he’s given. The bandages are changed and the wound is cleaned every so often. The lawyers don’t come back.

He’s regained some mobility in his arm and he’s moved to a different room. Vladimir’s given a sling, it hurts to move still but now he can at least use his hand and he can move his wrist without it hurting.

Every so often Vladimir will see cops walk past the door and stand guard, leaning against the wall opposite of the door. He has no roommate and his good hand is kept chained to the bed rail. He has no means of escape; the window is too high, he has nothing to cut the metal binding his wrist, and people patrol the halls by the room he’s in.

As much as he wishes it were different Vladimir has accepted his fate. He knows he’s going back to Utkin; they’ll be ready for them there. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough now, to escape it. They barely managed to the last time. Those three years… They had been the worst of the brothers' lives. And to spend the rest of his life there… It’s unimaginable.


	24. Chapter 24

Screaming woke him up. At first, Vladimir was confused. Screaming did not go unheard in hospitals, with grief and pain consuming people. But this ward tended to be quiet, almost silent. He knew Grotto was staying in the hospital. Him… and Grotto. Two very wanted people. 

There was a gunshot. A gunshot. Vladimir sat up. He had nowhere to run. He couldn’t run. He was trapped here, a sitting duck, a stuck pig. He breathed. He survived worse situations before. This came close, but they were worse. And he survived. He breathed in again. 

He heard more yelling pleas, gunshots. He couldn’t tell where the person was, didn’t know if he or Grotto was their target. The sounds came closer and Vladimir panicked. He yanked his cuffed hand, ignoring the way the metal bit into his wrist and drew blood. 

The police outside the door went down and blood sprayed from where they were standing. Vladimir drew himself up best he could with his injuries and the lowered bed. The door handle jiggled. Somehow through the haze of panic Vladimir’s mind cleared just enough. He pressed on the joint of his thumb and slipped his hand out of the handcuff. It sent sparks of pain shooting up his arm and into his shoulder but he could run now if he needed. Even if the door, the only way out, was blocked. Even if he was inured, weaponless, and the lone vigilante had an arsenal at his disposal. 

The where was a heavy metallic clang, the sound of a booted foot hitting metal, and the door swung open. “Frank Castle,” Vladimir said. He removed the sling and let it drop on the bed beside him. It’d only hinder his movements. 

Frank Castle stood there, shirt covered in blood. He held a gun, a rifle, in his hands. Vladimir could see he had another slung on his back. He would not be surprised if the man had more, hidden away somewhere.

“Ranskahov. You’ve managed to escape so far.” Castle tilted his head to one side, eyeing Vladimir.

“You aren’t shooting,” Vladimir said, surprised. 

The man raises his gun. “One batch. Two batch.” He flicks off the safety and puts his finger on the trigger. “Penny and a-”

“Wait! Wait.” Vladimir’s chest heaves as he pants. “I have-” he raises his good hand and points at Castle “-something I need you to hear.”

Castle’s finger moves off the trigger but still taps the side of it. “What,” he says. His voice a growl.

“First- a question.”

“Tick tock,” Castle growls.

“Why?”

Castle’s finger takes its place at the trigger. “Because scum like you deserves to be put down.”

“While I won’t argue that I am  _ scum  _ as you say, you and me, men like us, we are not so different.”

“Explain.”

“We both see thing’s as they are, not in the black that Man in Mask does. You see what needs ‘fixing’ as you say, and you act on it. And I do not deny what I am and what my life has made me. And anyway, I do not care if you kill me.” Vladimir sees Castle’s gaze go to the heart monitor and watches as the line stays steady, unfaltering. “Isn’t the point of what you do to punish people? To be quite honest I would not care if you succeeded to kill me the first time. But maybe we can help each other. Let me kill Fisk. Let  _ me  _ kill him, and then you can do what you want.”

“And how would this help me?” Castle’s eye has returned to the scope now.

“If Fisk dies whatever gangs he has working for him will lose profit, they’ll do riskier things, draw more attention to themselves. They’ll be easy picking.”

“While that does sound ideal -” now Vladimir can see the movement in his tendons, the twitch of muscle in Castle’s arm “-I have you here. Unguarded and defenceless.”

“Do you?” And Vladimir grins, all teeth, vicious.

The running of booted feet is audible now, thundering their way. The look on Castle’s face is murderous, he sneers as he backs out of the room, gun still trained on Vladimir. He fires as he turns, the bullets narrowly missing Vladimir, instead piecing the wall. Vladimir can hear shrieks from the next room. 

Castle runs, and Vladimir slumps in the bed, suddenly drained. His shoulder throbs now, as well as his dislocated thumb.

His eyes are closing as the police run into the room, he doesn’t hear what they have to say to him.

  
  
  


When he wakes up he’s handcuffed up and his hand is wrapped in some kind of bandage. He’s been moved, there are no bullet holes in the walls behind him. The door is different too, it looks more reinforced than the other one and it doesn’t have a window in it either.

Vladimir lets his head fall back on the pillow before his neck can cramp from him craning it to look around the room. 

He can hear muffled voices from outside, he recognizes Murdick’s and Nelson’s and whoever the woman is. Hers is familiar even though he can not place it.

The door opens and the two lawyers, the woman, and the doctor, Ĉielo, he remembers, come in. “How are you feeling?” Ĉielo asks.

“Fine,” he says gruffly. “I have had worse,” he says at Ĉielo’s raised eyebrow.

Karen scoffs and mutters something under her breath. The corner of Murdock’s lips turns up in amusement. Vladimir glares at her. He’s surprised to see her match it. 

“Unfortunately,” Ĉielo says, “Castle has managed to getaway. Fortunately, you and Grotto have survived. He has been put under protective custody as well as you. You will be transferred to keep something like this from happening again. Now I do believe Misters Nelson and Murdock would like to speak with you.” She excuses herself and leaves. 

Vladimir manages to find the remote on the side of the bed and raises the bed. “So. Grotto left?” He raises an eyebrow. Karen clears her throat and looks away. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?” Vladimir asks her.

“I don’t see how that’s any your business,” Karen says tersely. 

“Let’s get back on topic,” Nelson says, ever the peacemaker, placater. “Vladimir, you’ll be leaving soon. Matt and I are already making arrangements.”

“So what? No trial?”

“No,” Murdock says. “You didn’t finish the sentence and you’ve only-”

“Only  _ what _ ,” Vladimir snaps. He’s suddenly tired and drained and exhausted and would rather they leave him be to sit and sulk and sleep.

Murdock frowns and straightens his glasses. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll be short with you. YOu didn’t finish your sentence. You escaped, and killed people to do so. You’ve killed people on your way here. You’ve killed since coming here. You sold guns, illegally. You transported drugs for Gao, illegally. You kidnapped a  _ child _ , to get to m- Daredevil. You trafficked human beings.  _ That  _ is why you are going back.” 

“You’re supposed to be my lawyers,” Vladimir says, practically snarling it. “How the hell have you helped me!?”

“We got the sentence changed,” Murdock says, “and you should be damn grateful we did.”

“Changed from  _ what _ ?!”

Murdock stands, movements stiff, choppy, angry. “Foggy?”   
  
Nelson stands and Murdock takes his elbow. “We’ll be seeing you,” Murdock tells Vladimir, completely ignoring his question, as well as Nelson and Page.

“Changed from what?” Vladimir asks again, voice quieter, subdued. 

The three leave without answering. The door shuts behind them and Vladimir scowls at it. “Rude,” he grumbles aloud. “Assholes.” He leans back and punches the pillow. The chain of the handcuff rattles against the bedrail and he glares at it. 

He settles and lets out a sigh. He closes his eyes. The light is harsh and bright, even against closed eyelids. He sighs again and tries to push away the feeling of pressing loneliness he has felt since Anatoly’s death.

  
  
  


The Avengers are making national news again. Stark had apparently taken the spiderling to Germany to take Captain America, and  _ that  _ is a stupid name, Captain America, whoever came up with it? It was for propaganda, yes, but that doesn’t change the stupidity of the name. 

Apparently, the Winter Soldier was kidnapped and brainwashed by Hydra. And isn’t it something that one of Russia’s heroes was all buddy-buddy with Captain America in their golden days. Ironic the whole thing,

Really the whole thing was ridiculous. Vladimir didn’t know how people still trusted the lot. One doing it because it’s his “duty” the other because he’s rich and he can and two former spies, one Russian. How people trusted them Vladimir never knew. 

He lays in the bed, watching the tiny television that’s in the corner of the room, bored. Stark is going on about how he’s going to ‘serve justice’ and whatnot. Vladimir rolls his eyes. It’s all talk anyway. He knows Captain America and Soldier are long gone. Stark really should just let the whole thing go. And maybe it’s hypocritical for Vladimir to think that but Soldier was brainwashed and really no brainwashed person is in their right mind. And Fisk is far from brainwashed. Unstable and a mad man, yes. But brainwashed? Never


	25. Chapter 25

Before leaving the hospital, leaving New York, Vladimir calls Nikolai and Alexei. Tells them what’s happening. There’s so much he doesn’t say but he hopes they understand. 

He’s taken back to the police station. The lawyers are there, standing solemnly, following behind Brett. They exchange farewells. Vladimir’s phone is taken from him and he tells them where the apartment that he’d been staying in is. There’s enough money there to cover the hospital bills and to pay the lawyers.

Lights and cameras flash in his face when he’s escorted out of the precinct. He keeps his head cast downward. 

Utkin is just as he remembers it. Tall towers, lined with barbed wire. The scoping searchlights, scanning the exterior walls. The guards’ dogs bark and howl with the frozen wind. It’s always cold, always dark, within these walls.


	26. Chapter 26

Vladimir has three other cellmates like last time. Last time he had known Alexei and Oleg. He does not know these people. They're covered in tattoos similar to his. 

The stitches on his shoulder split open with a burst of pain when he’s thrown back into the cell. They had used their old methods to try and pry information out of him. He had been ready for it, built up a mental wall against the pain. 

He breathes in the cold, presses a hand to his shoulder. The bleeding is sluggish, seeping. It’ll end up infected in this rat-infested cell. A rat crawls over his leg and Vladimir kicks it away. It squeals and scurries away. 

Days pass. There’s another fight, an attempt to break out. The dogs are brought in and everyone quiets down.

Vladimir licks his parched lips. The ceiling drips water, it’s all they’ve had for a while. Food here was almost nonexistent. Vladimir can feel every one of his ribs now. He props himself up in one corner. 

Two of his cellmates are asleep pressed against each other, sharing warmth. If they’re close the integrators will use it against them. Hearing Anatoly’s cries… Vladimir shudders against the cold and pressing memories.

The place stinks of rot; of blood, urine. He tries to breathe through his mouth but he’s only reminded of how thirsty he is when he does that. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Fear and pain keep him awake. In the past the guards always came for him when he slept, dragging him up by his arms, waking him as they pulled him along the halls, feet dragging on the concrete. He has scars on his feet from those times, when he was too unconscious to pick up his feet and stagger along. 

When he does sleep the dreams are cold and bloody. He doesn’t remember any specific details. Just a bone aching chill, stopped only by the warmth of blood. 

The guards come in again, taking Lavrenti and Zakhar with them. Vladimir wonders if they’ll use them against each other, hurting one so the other will spill his secrets.

Hours pass and Lavrenti is thrown back into the cell. His breathing is ragged, catching. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and bruises colour his ribs and chest. One of the others, Yevgeni, comforts him as he lays there. Dying. Like Oleg. Like Lyosha. Zakhar is likely still being integrated. 

By the time Zakhar is thrown back into their cell Lavrenti’s chest barely stirs. Zakhar holds him, runs a hand through his hair. Zakhar kisses Lavrenti’s temple as he draws his last breath.Tears pour from Zakhar’s eyes freely now, though he doesn’t make a sound, just sits there, on his knees. 

The whole thing is reminding Vladimir all too well of what happened to Alexei. He shivers and closes his eyes. He can do nothing now. 

The guards take the body away shortly after Lavrenti takes his last breath. He had not lain there, dead, for long. Apparently, they had learned from last time. Vladimir watches them take the body away with dark eyes. They would usually leave the dead to the rats to feed on, burying them later. 

Zakhar falls silent following Lavrenti’s death. Vladimir knew they had been close; always sitting by each other, sleeping pressed against the other. All of them were wasting away in the confines of the cell. Vladimir faced the ceiling, catching the water in his mouth. 

The sun never shone here. It was always dark, in tones of blue and grey, matching the mood. 

Later, after a beating, Vladimir watches the blood drip off his chest onto the floor. More of the stitches had been yanked open with the force the guards used, hauling him around. His feet are dead beneath him, numb and frozen, hurting from the cuts he had gotten when they scraped against the concrete floor. 

The guards wanted so much; names, places, the hierarchy. Vladimir would give none of it. It might end his suffering but it would put people in danger. Alexei, Nikolai. He had to protect them, keep them from becoming what he became. 

Vladimir can feel heat in his shoulder, could feel the skin pull whenever he stirred from where he was slumped in one corner. He coughs and the air rattles in his lungs. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. 

The cell door is unlocked and pushed open. The metal clangs, reverberating against the stone wall. Vladimir groans at the noise and presses a hand to his head.    
  


There are heavy footsteps, the guards then, they always wore boots. They stop by his head and he’s picked up off the ground. He barely manages to get his feet beneath him before they’re yanking him along with them. 

Later, when they are done integrating him, they throw him back in the cell. He scrambles to stay upright and drags himself over to sit against the wall. 

Vladimir gingerly runs a hand over his ribs. There’d be bruises there in the following days, the deep ache he feels there was a testament to that. His vision swims and Vladimir fixes his gaze on the opposite wall. 

He shivers and crosses his arms. There’s a sudden pain in his abdomen and he grimaces. Starvation would kill him if hypothermia didn’t. They had taken to starving information out of him like last time. His cellmates weren't talking either. Whatever they had gotten in for, Vladimir didn’t ask, didn’t really talk to them at all.

There are soft padding footsteps and someone sits next to him. A shoulder brushes his and Vladimir turns his head and opens his eyes. Zakhar, looking miserable, crestfallen and bruised. He was younger than Vladimir, looking about the age he did when he was first in Utkin. That had been so long ago… When he and Anatoly still had dreams.

“How do you do it?” Zakhar mumbles, keeping his gaze focused on the floor. It had been the first Vladimir heard him say in a long time. “Deal with it? Because I can’t.”

“You and Lavrenti were close?”

At Zakhar’s nod, Vladimir says, “Just… Keep breathing.”

Yevgeni is returned to their cell later, looking defeated. His shoulders slump and he sits on the opposite wall of Vladimir and Zakhar. Vladimir tilts his head as he studies him. “You told them something?”

“Yeah,” Yevgeni sighs, weary. 

The three sleep huddled together that night. The last person Vladimir had slept that closely to was… he supposes it was Alexei and Nikolia. He had been safe then. In a place so full of danger it had been Anatoly. Always Anatoly. 

Vladimir wakes with a twisting pain in his gut. He lurches away from where Yevengi and Zakhar are still asleep and retches. He coughs weakly and wipes his hand with his mouth.

The guards don’t come that day. Vladimir spends most of it restlessly asleep, writhing at the ache in his muscles. 

When they do come for him the next day he can hardly walk. He lurches to one side, unable to walk with the world spinning around him. He collapses to the ground and arms grab his. He’s hauled to his feet and dragged back to the cell. His legs drag on the concrete, he can’t seem to find the balance or strength to walk.

He lands roughly, on one hip that’s sure to bruise. Outside the cell, he can hear the guards talking. “They told us-”

“He isn’t going to be able to tell us anything in this condition. Leave him.”

A third voice cuts in saying, “If he dies-”

“He isn’t going to die,” the second snaps. 

Vladimir coughs and involuntarily flinches when the three turn to look at him. He coughs again and it rattles in his lungs. He breathes in deeply and slumps against the ground when it feels like he hasn’t forgotten how to breathe. 

The guards give him one last look then leave him. 

Vladimir stares up at the ceiling. For a second he feels like he can’t breathe; his chest is tight like there’s a band around it. He tries to draw in air again and instead ends up coughing. He manages to sit against one of the walls and coughs again. His vision blacks out and  oh god is this what dying feels like?

There’s a hand on his chest, someone telling him to breathe. When he finally can the hand pats his chest and helps him sit up, leaning on the wall. The whole thing feels so familiar. And when did he end up on the ground? 

“You alright?” Yevgeni asks.

Vladimir drops his chin to his chest and breathes deeply. It still hurts, still rattles. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” Yevgeni says.

There’s a beat of silence before Zakhar is asking, “How did you escape last time?”

“A rib.”  A gift from Lyosha  echoes in his mind and Vladimir remembers why it is all so familiar. He didn’t remember a lot from that night but what he did… Most of it resurfaced in his nightmares. 

“From what?”

Vladimir crosses his arms, closes his eyes. “I’m not talking about this.” From being Princes of Moscow to this. To nothing. Back in this  hellhole . He feels something rising in his chest, twisting. He squeezes his eyes, stretching the scar taunt.  I’m sorry brother.

He wonders how it all came to this and supposes it was when they accepted Fisk’s offer. Or when they had left Utkin. They could have done better and yet… Vladimir clenches his hands into fists and stares at the tattoos that decorate them. None of them came from him being good. 

He let his arms fall to his sides and he closed his eyes again. The feeling is back in his chest. He shifts and stretches his legs out. Vladimir lets out a shaky breath. It’ll go away. Eventually. Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, and Vladimir wakes several times, feeling restless until he falls asleep again.

The stone is cold, hard. He shifts in the corner, tries to get comfortable. The pulsing is back in his head and Vladimir kneads his temples. Every part of him  hurts . He breathes wrong once and ends up coughing for the next several minutes before his body figures out how to breathe again.

Zakhar gives him a disgusted look and moves to the other end of the cell. Yevgeni is still gone, still being interrogated. He told them something once, they’ll be expecting him too again.

When they return Yevgeni he’s looking better. Vladimir would try figuring out why but he’s having too much trouble keeping his eyes open. The pain is back in his stomach and he wraps an arm around himself. 

The guards stop by him. Their hands reach down and pull him up. His vision swims and he wretches. The guards move him jerkily and he lets out a low moan. His vision blacks out and he’s sitting in another room.

“Please… wait,” he says, when one nears him. Whoever it is waits until he stops coughing before prodding him to continue. “I’ll talk. Just…” He almost blacks out again and when he opens his eyes there’s food and water in front of him.

“Eat. We can’t have you dying before you tell us, now can we?” Vladimir can hear the gleeful smirk in the man’s voice. He ignores it and eats, drinks. 

They ask for names, places. He talks in a low, hoarse voice. He leaves out Iosif, Viktor, Boris, Akim. If only to protect Alexei and Nikolai. Iosif did help him too. The others he couldn’t care less for. He considered giving them Daniil and Fionn but didn’t. The two seemed loyal only to the other. Vladimir was sure they would have no qualms about giving everyone else up. 

  
The guards didn’t throw him into the cell. Just opened the door and shoved him inside before they closed the door. It was unexpected and Vladimir knew not to think it would last. He limped to the far corner and all but collapsed there. He coughs again and the squeezing sensation returns. He tries not to think about what it means - that he’s dying - and sleeps. 


	27. Chapter 27

There’s water in Vladimir’s lungs. There’s no other explanation for what he’s breathing. He draws in a ragged breath and claws at his throat, chest. He coughs and his chest heaves. 

Blackness presses on his eyes and Vladimir blinks rapidly. There are muffled quiet footsteps moving around him and then heavy booted ones. 

_ “Look at him.” _

_ “If he dies-” _

_ “They’ll have our heads. I know.”  _

He flinches away from those, weakly cringes away from hands that grab at him. 

He’s hauled to his feet and his head is pulsing, spinning. He blinks, tries to keep his eyes open against pressing darkness. He tries to breathe and is instead filled with pain. 

The tight pained feeling stays with him, even as he passes out. 

There’s a deep pain in his chest. Vladimir lets out a gasp at it. Something pierces his side and jerks away from it. He panics when something grabs him, restrains him. He can hear voices somewhere above him. A hand grabs his and the person rubs their thumb across the back of his hand. He feels a pinprick of pain and everything fades.

When he wakes up he can’t breathe. He hears a flurry of noise he can’t place and someone grabs his hand. “You’re alright Volodya. It’s Iosif.”  _ The hell? Iosif?  _ “You’re fine. They’ve put you on a ventilator.”

Vladimir can’t understand, can’t talk. He can’t smell or taste anything either. Now though he can tell oxygen is being pumped into his lungs. He panics again, remembering the last time he’d been around one of the machines. Semyon had died… “Shh. You’re fine. You’re safe here.” 

Safe? Here? Utkin was never safe but… Utkin was never soft or warm. There’s a hand on his shoulder and Vladimir manages to pry his eyes open. It’s too much effort to turn his head and looking around the room is making him dizzy. 

He catches Iosif’s eyes and blinks. His vision is already blurring. “Hey,” Iosif says. “Good to see you again.” It’s too much work to keep his eyes open and Vladimir lets them close. 

The people, wherever he’s at, have kept him sleeping through most of the process. Vladimir’s barely conscious when they turn the machine off and he takes a while remembering how to breathe.

Each of his sides are bandaged. They had to put tubes in, apparently, to keep him from drowning in his own lungs. 

Vladimir ends up back in one of the safehouses. He spends most of his time sleeping, like the last time he had been there. He had seen people filter in and out of the house. No one gave him any heed, just looked over him. 

As soon as he’s recovered enough he goes to visit his family’s graves. He brings flowers, like he promised. 

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse. “Anatoly… I could have sworn I saw you. Back in America… I ended up hurt. Like last time. Brother, where are you? I heard your voice.” Vladimir sits, sighs heavily. His chest still twings with phantom pains at times. He sets some of the flowers by his brother’s grave, the others go by his parents. 

They have a shared headstone. They spent most of their lives together, even before they were married. They had even died together, holding each other. “I’m sorry,” Vladimir tells them. If they can hear him at all that is. “I know you never meant this life for Toly and me.” Vladimir stands. He leaves, heart heavy in his chest. 

Back in the warehouse, Iosif hands him a gun. Vladimir stares down at it and feels his chest grow cold. “We’ve got a job,” Iosif tells him. “Down by the docks. We’re meeting the others when it’s done.”

There are shipping containers waiting for them. Vladimir just feels sick looking at them. Before this had all just been a job. But people were in there. People with families.    
  
Vladimir finds his shoulder being shaken. He blinks. The containers were gone, he could see a ship in the distance, already at sea. “Let’s go,” Iosif says. Vladimir silently hands back the gun and follows Iosif. 

The meeting is an old abandoned apartment. Someone had bought it while Vladimir was gone. Boris and Akim are there. Viktor joined them at the table once they were seated, Alexei and Nikolai in tow.

"Hello Vladimir," Boris says. "It's been a while."

_ How long? _ Vladimir wonders.  _ How long was I in there?  _ He doesn't ask. "I thought I said I was done. I've earned my retirement.

"Now Vladimir," Akim says, voice silky, "you know that's not how things work around here."

Vladimir crosses his arms, stares at the two frostily. "I am aware. But I don't work for  _ you _ ."

Akim slams his fist into the table. "Do you know how much it cost to get you out of there!? You will do well to obey us, work with us. Or for us," he sneers, "if that's what it takes."

“Fuck no. I have as much control as you do. I haven’t forgotten that.” Vladimir’s lip curls as he says, “Or have you forgotten? You  _ are  _ getting rather old-” 

“Enough!” Iosif shouts. He turns to look at Vladimir. “Vladimir,” he says, tone flat and cold. “If we see you around here again-”

“I understand.” Vladimir stood abruptly and the chair fell back and to the floor with a screech and bang. “I know how things work around here.” He leaves and lets the old lobby doors slam behind him. 

The sky is dark and the air is bitter, freezing against his skin. If not for the illness he would have wished for a cigarette, alcohol, to take the pain away. 

Back in his apartment he drinks and smokes anyway. It burns in his throat and stomach but he just can’t bring himself to care. Anatoly always said he’d end up regretting it but he was alive. Vladimir had outlived him anyway. He always thought he’d be the first to go. Anatoly was too level-headed to rush off into battle, chasing the thrill of blood. 

Someone knocks and Vladimir stands, sighing. His bones creak and protest the movements. He doesn’t listen and goes to open the door. “Yes?”

“We were worried,” Alexei says, then barges past Vladimir followed closely by Nikolai.

“I made this.” Nikolai shoves a container of something against Vladimir’s chest. He takes it and watches as Nikolai kicks his shoes off then goes to lay on the couch beside Alexei. 

Vladimir closes the door and goes to sit beside them. He eases down beside them and lets out a weary sigh. “Thank you. For this.” He leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. “How long was I in there?”

“It’s November now,” Alexei says. “The eleventh.”

“Nikolasha move. Your elbow is digging into my side.”

“Sorry.” Nikolai moves and ends up jabbing Vladimir. Vladimir winces and shifts over. 

“Will you two cut it out?” Vladimir snaps after being elbowed a second time, by Alexei. 

Nikolai mutters a quiet ‘sorry.’ He rests his head on Alexei’s shoulder once he's settled and nuzzles into him. Vladimir stands, and picks up the container. He goes to put it in the fridge. For later. If he decides to eat. “You’re supposed to eat it now,” Nikolai murmurs. Vladimir turns. His eyes are more closed than open now but Alexei is still watching.

Vladimir sighs and reheats the food. Nikolai grins when Vladimir sits down with his now heated food and starts to eat. They sit in silence for a while. Nikolai ends up with his head pillowed on Alexei’s legs and his feet in Vladimir’s lap. 

It’s almost too peaceful. Vladimir almost feels as if he’s holding his breath. He sets the now empty container on the coffee table and puts his feet on the table. “You two still working for them?” Vladimir asks casually. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer.

Alexei looks at him, sighs, and runs a hand through Nikolai’s hair. Nikolai makes a pleased sound in his sleep. “We’ve been talking about it,” Alexei says finally, after the silence stretched until Vladimir felt like he’d suffocate.

“What about it?”

Nikolai murmurs something and his eyes open. “You’re being too loud,” he complains. Alexei runs a hand through his hair in apology.

“Well?” Vladimir asks. Alexei turns so he's facing ahead, keeping his gaze carefully away from Vladimirs.

“Well what?” Nikolai murmurs.

“What do you two plan on doing?”

“About what?”   


Vladimir swears the two somehow planned this if he ever asked them. “About Boris. Viktor. Akim. Do you plan on working for them still?”

“We don’t even know Boris,” Nikolai reminds him. He sits up and leans on Alexei.

“Good. Keep it that way.” 

“It’s not like I enjoy this,” Alexei says, voice quiet. Nikolai puts his arm around Alexei’s shoulders.

“Then quit.”   
  
“It isn’t that simple,” Nikolai says. “You know that. Don’t say you don’t.”

Vladimir sighs. “I know.” He stands, picks up the container, and goes into the kitchen to throw it away. He takes a minute and looks out the window, the grey buildings, yellow lights in the distance, twinkling and taunting. He inhales and puts a hand on his side at the sharp pain. Before going back into the living room he grabs a bottle of vodka. 

“So,” he says, as he pours the vodka into three glasses. “I, am done.” He drinks his portion before pouring himself another. “I won’t do it without Anatoly. And seeing as how he’s dead…” He drinks. “I’m just… done.”

Alexei and Nikolai both take theirs, Nikolai, drinking immediately. Alexei turns it, watching the liquid inside turn slowly. He snaps his head back and drains it. “Vladimir,” Alexei says, “we can’t just quit. They won’t let us. We aren’t  _ like you _ . They won’t let us get away with it.”

Vladimir hums and taps his fingers against the side of the glass. “I could protect you two. I know people, I know how.”

“But for how long?” Nikolai asks. “How long would it last before you end up dead?”   
  


“End up dead? Do you think I will not die of old age?”

“Do you?” Alexei asks.

“I die of my own accord,” is all Vladimir says. There’s a beat of silence before Vladimir is asking, “How did you two get involved anyway? How’d you two meet?”

“Money.” Nikolai snorts. “Drugs, at the beginning. Access to drugs, alcohol. The adrenaline rush.” He shrugs. “I won’t say I regret all of it because that wouldn't be true.” He lets out a sound that may be a laugh or weary sigh. Vladimir can’t tell. “But I do wish I were doing something different with my life. Now I just feel… trapped. Suffocated. I guess. The thrill is gone now and,” he shrugs, “I’m just…” Alexei squeezes his hand.  “I don’t really remember exactly how Alexei and I met but…” Nikolai shrugs again. “He saved me. From myself I guess. I don’t know how he got involved.” 

“It was a meeting between Viktor and Akim and Yaraslaf,” Alexei says in his quiet voice. “I was working for him. It was in this pub in Frank.“

“Hmm. Yeah. I do remember you telling me that. After I woke up in your hotel room.” Nikolai snorts and Vladimir realizes he must be making a face and he quickly  forces the expression down . “Oh don’t be like that. Nothing happened.”

“That night at least,” Alexei says and he smirks. Nikolai elbows him as he’s pouring more vodka for himself and it almost sloshes out of the bottle.    
  
Vladimir grabs it before any can be spilled and sets it on the coffee table after capping it. “Be careful. Spill any of that and I’m not inviting you back here.”

Alexei rolls his eyes. “Sure.” He kisses the top of Nikolai’s head and rests his cheek on the top of his head. “You wouldn’t.”

The two of them, sitting there. Vladimir shakes his head. “Have more,” he says and pushed the bottle closer to the two of them.    
  


Vladimir can't see anything. There's black and blood pressing against his eyelids and his heart hammers in his chest.

He hears a cry of pain but he can't see where it's coming from, it's too dark, too red. He clenches his right hand into a fist. It's wet and sticky. He looks down. His hand is covered in red, like he stuck it in a bucket of paint. Red drips away from it, steaming in the cold of the air, and he knows it's no paint.

He clenches both hands to fists and his left curls around something. He looks and sees a white rag stained with pink. It changes then, turning black and smooth and dangling from his fingers.

He flings it away, disgust on his lips. 

And then he realizes he was never so alone.

“Vladimir?” 

Vladimir jerks and raises his head. Alexei sprawled out on the couch, Nikolai’s head resting on his chest. Vladimir takes his head off Alexei’s leg and sits up from where he was slouched against the couch on the floor. “What?” he asks, the word harsher than he meant. He wipes away the tears.

“Are you alright?” Nikolai asks.

“Will be,” Vladimir grunts.

Nikolai nods and lays his head back on Alexei’s chest. 

The sky outside is black now. Vladimir stands and carries the bottle of vodka to the kitchen where he puts it in the freezer. He leans against the fridge and looks out his kitchen window. The same twinkling lights are there, light streaming from other people's apartments and the stars. He sighs. Wonders if the masked man knows what's going on in his city, if the whispers of The Hand returning are true. wondering if he should go back to the city. What side he'd be on if he did. His own. Vladimir banishes the thoughts from his head, thinking he should no longer be one to take part in such things. He'd be of little use to them now anyway.

Vladimir sighs and moves off his fridge. He goes back into the living room. Nikolai's asleep again, lounging on Alexei. He shakes his head and moves into the bedroom. In it he can hear the sounds of the two's easy breathing. He leaves his door open that night. 


	28. Chapter 28

Fionn and Daniil were following him. Had been, for the past few days. 

He rounds a corner and they corner him in an alleyway. They stand there, cross-armed and glowering. 

"Yes?" Vladimir asked boredly.

"You've been trying to turn Alexei and Nikolia," Fionn said. "That has to stop."

Vladimir scoffs. "You can't stop me." 

Fionn raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so?"

Daniil comes up then, lifting a gun. Vladimir's eyes flicker to the side. The safety is on and Daniil's finger isn't on the trigger, is far from it in fact. 

He knows what's coming next. Daniil clocks him on the head with the butt of the gun. Vladimir goes down. He rolls onto his back and one of the cousin's boots press into his sternum. His eyes close then, and he feels them haul him to his feet.

As soon as Vladimir opens his eyes one of them, probably Daniil, hits him again and his consciousness goes.

Vladimir doesn't blink, doesn't move from where he's slouched. His chin is pressed into his bare chest and his neck is stiff, it'll hurt in the coming days, he knows. His hands are tied behind the back of the chair he's sitting on with rope. The knot is poor and will be easy to undo.

"Dani. I think he's awake" 

Boots crunch on gravel as someone walks closer. Vladimir opens his eyes. He can't tell Fionn and Daniil apart, not with the way his eyes are swimming. 

Their figures shift and blur as one moves closer. 

Daniil, at least he thinks it's Daniil, forces his chin up with one hand. "You've been making things difficult for us." The accent isn't Russian, must be Fionn then.

Vladimir turns his head as Daniil gets closer. "We were informed that you were trying to convince Alexei and Nikolia to leave." Vladimir blinks and Daniil's figure blurs then refocuses. He's leaning to one side and tilting his head. "And we can't have that. Can we?"

"What are you going to do about it?" Vladimir asks. He starts undoing the rope while the two are distracted. 

Fionn presses a gun into his belly and clicks the safety off. Daniil puts a hand on Fionn’s chest, eyes suddenly wide. "They told us not to kill him."

Fionn huffs and there's a click as the safety gets turned back on. "I wasn't. It was supposed to scare him."

"As if that would scare me," Vladimir sneers. The rope is hanging limp in his hands now. "I hold more power than the two of you combined. Why were you sent?"

The two exchange glances and one of them, Vladimir can't tell which, leers down at him. "We are pretty powerful ourselves you know." And that was Daniil, with his sharp-edged words.

Vladimir scoffs. "No. I don't."

Daniil has a knife in his hands, Vladimir sees. It was tucked away in his sleeve and now Daniil flicks it open. 

He rests the blade on Vladimir's collar bone, above one of the stars. "We could take that all away," Daniil says and he puts pressure on the knife.

Vladimir watches as a bead of blood drips away. "You think scarring me will take away what I've done? The rank I have?  _ I _ am your superior. If you-"

"What you are," Fionn says, voice a growl, "is a coward."

The two are vicious but they are desperate to prove themselves. They will make a mistake, and soon. As soon as they do Vladimir will seize his chance.

Vladimir straightens in the chair and narrows his eyes. "You are wrong. If you do this you will never make it far. With power comes connections, opportunity." 

Leaning forward, staring into the twos eyes he says, "I know people in Russia, Siberia, Ukraine, America. They know people. I earned these, you do not have the right to take them away. And if you even dare mark them," Vladimir hisses, "I will make it  _ very _ difficult for you to do anything outside of Russia."

The two stare back wider eyed, chests rising quicker. They exchange glances and Fionn says something in Irish. Daniil nods.

Fionn has the gun out again, safety still on. Vladimir waits until he's closer before lunging forward. 

He pulls back, the gun now in his hand. The knife lays on the floor, forgotten by the cousins. He slams it into Daniil's head and he drops. 

Vladimir puts a knee on Daniil's chest and puts the gun to his temple. Looking at Fionn he says, "I can kill him right now and you will be unable to stop me." He puts a finger on the safety. "Where would that leave you then?" 

Fionn swallows and stumbles forward. "Please-"

"Broken, alone, powerless." Vladimir turns the safety off and Fionn falls to his knees.

"Please," Fionn says, voice choking. "Don't hurt him." 

Vladimir narrows his eyes. "And what have you done that I shouldn't?"

Fionn's head hangs and he says something in Irish. "Nothing," he tells Vladimir.

"That's what I thought." And points the gun at Daniil’s knee. 

“Please!” Fionn says, voice an octave higher.

Meeting Fionn’s eyes, narrowing his own, Vladimir takes off the safety. Puts his finger on the trigger. And pulls it.

Daniil wakes and starts screaming. 

“Tell anyone,” Vladimir says, “I will kill him.” 

Frozen like ice, Fionn stands there, muscles tense and struggling. His mouth is open, gaping. Staring at the fast bleeding wound on Daniil’s leg. He steps forward and Vladimir turns the gun on him. "Do not try to attempt anything like that again.Do not tell anyone. If  _ anyone  _ asks what happened you  _ will  _ tell them that you were ambushed. You did not see their faces. They were wearing masks. You will tell Daniil this. If he tells, you will die. If you tell he will die. Is this understood?" 

Fionn is nodding. As soon as Vladimir steps away Fionn is next to Daniil, taking his hand and letting out a stream of Irish. He presses a hand to the gushing wound and Daniil’s cries rise in volume.

Vladimir rolls his neck and wipes the blood off his collar bone. It's already stopped bleeding. He, thankfully, recognizes where he is once he leaves.

No one looks at him oddly as he steps out of the building, an old run down hotel or apartment of some sort, he realizes once he’s outside. Daniil’s cries are very muchaudible outside the building but it’s nothing the people here haven’t heard before. 

The old pub is still there, the convenience store. He knew the owner, the man was old. In his youth,  _ and isn’t it strange to think that, his youth _ , Vladimir would buy alcohol and cigarettes from him. 

Much of this town Vladimir hasn’t seen in years. After his boyhood. Before… Utkin. The first time, he has to think now. He walks around. Most of it he recognizes. Some of it he doesn’t.

The buildings he doesn’t recognize Vladimir goes in. He recognizes the woman in one store. He had forgotten her name. It had been something like Danika. She spots him, waves. “Vladislav! Haven't seen you for many years.”

He nods. His grin is almost a grimace and he quickly moves on. He buys a bottle of vodka and takes it back to the apartment he shared with Anatoly. 

Suddenly spurred with a spark of  _ something  _ Vladimir goes to a shop that had been selling herbs and tiny succulents. He buys a few, and takes them to the apartment. He lines them up on the window sills and he puts the basil on the center of the table. 

Later he invites over Nikolai and Alexei. He had cooked pelmeni. Together they eat and share the vodka Vladimir had bought. 

“So,” Alexei says, looking around the room, once the food and dishes had been cleared, “this is where…” He trails off as though unsure whether to voice his thought.

“Yes. I haven’t been here much lately. It’s livelier now.”   
  
All Alexei can do can nod. 

“I found this,” Nikolai says. Vladimir had seen him snooping, “looking around” and “checking the place out” Nikolai had said, earlier. He tosses a pack of cards to Vladimir and he catches it. “Let’s play.”

Vladimir shrugs. He opens the box and shuffles the cards.

When the three of them are sitting on the couch watching a rerun of an old show Vladimir realizes he feels… content. Full of food. Almost happy in this space he once shared with Anatoly, the only person he had in a long time. He sighs. Content. 


End file.
